


The Shadow of Truth

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Gen, Obi-Wan Needs a Hug, Poor Obi-Wan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Years after Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan Kenobi loses his Master. Qui-Gon Jinn remembers, regrets, and considers the future. A multi-part story.





	1. Part I

The Shadow of Truth

 

“Here is the shadow of truth, for only the shadow is true.” -Robert Penn Warren.

 

PART I 

From a distance, it appeared the man laid out upon the pyre was asleep, but Obi-Wan Kenobi knew it was an illusion; he had watched over the body as it was prepared, witnessed the manipulation of slack limbs and cold hands, death posed in a parody of slumber meant to comfort the living. His Master was always a light sleeper. He would rouse at the sound of an insect’s sneeze, then predictably nudge his apprentice awake, to go over mission details, discuss ancient philosophy, or what they might find for breakfast, until finally Obi-Wan would wearily suggest they both get some more rest. It was one of the best aspects of having a young Master. Sometimes it was as if they were growing up together. 

And then those memories were set ablaze, sparks landing on the closed eyes, fire melting brown cloak into olive skin, until the silhouette was fully consumed. Obi-Wan swallowed thickly. Smoke filled his nostrils, constricted his lungs. Tears blurred his vision and he coughed. 

It was done. 

He was luckier than many apprentices, he reminded himself. Padawan Bax was stranded on Jhar with his Master’s corpse for days before he could be rescued, and he was a mere child at the time. Obi-Wan’s braid fell past his shoulder; he would (or would have been) a senior Padawan by year’s end. He had not seen his teacher die, although the assassination occurred in Galactic City, so close to the Jedi Temple that several Masters sensed the unmistakable disturbance and rushed down the front steps, darting through the night in a search that would prove both gruesome and futile. 

Master Ullo Tirr was dead before anyone could reach him, least of all his own apprentice, who was en route to Coruscant from a solo mission. Those same Jedi that pounded along the walkways looking for their fallen comrade surrounded what was left of him now, a throng of both friends and faint acquaintances, sets of shoulders that silently parted in unison to allow Obi-Wan his place at the cooling pyre. 

He caught the solemn, hooded eyes of Master Windu, and bowed. Windu briefly gripped his arm. The Force bled with sympathy. Obi-Wan wondered if the Council member could tell he was wearing Master Ullo’s cloak, just a little long in the sleeves, sweeping the floor enough to collect ash along the hem. As one of a Jedi’s only belongings, the cloak was meant to be burned, as part of the ceremonial release of life to the Force. 

But Obi-Wan was still a student, still learning to let go. He looked at the pyre and felt his chest tighten again. He didn’t want to let go. His fingers curled around the wide, soft sleeves. How many short days ago had his Master done the same? Obi-Wan pulled the fabric tighter around himself, to cleave to any vestige of Ullo Tirr’s essence still lingering in the fibers. He inhaled, but the natural scent of the man was lost beneath heavy, clinging smoke. Dimly, he sensed the departure of other mourners, quiet shadows retreating back into the Temple. He saw Bant and Garen stop on their way to the stairs, the Mon Calamarian girl’s huge eyes quivering with unshed tears, while Garen offered him a restrained nod. 

Obi-Wan tipped his head slightly in acknowledgment, but did not move from his post. He stared at the dying embers, little orange flickers amid the mound of dust that had once been a remarkable Jedi. By morning, the wind would carry the remnants away. And he would never see his Master again, never say good-bye, or tell him he was sorry he had not been by his side when it mattered most. 

Obi-Wan looked up at the Coruscanti sky, always overrun with speeders and frenetic, neon life. Tendrils of smoke floated towards the distant stars, but dissipated too soon to reach them. 

It was all over too soon. 

Finally alone, he dropped to his knees, pressing a cheek to the cold stone pyre, and wept. 

*^*

Obi-Wan did not know how long he knelt there, undone by his grief, until exhaustion burned in his temples and his legs shook. Where would he go now? To his bed, to eventually fall into a listless sleep, dreaming that his teacher was still alive, as he had every night? Should he wander the Temple, hearing only one set of footsteps where there should be another? Not a room or corner in the grand building was unencumbered by the bittersweet aura of the past. And a foolish part of himself feared that as soon as he walked away from the pyre, he would be walking away from Master Tirr, and the life he knew, for the last time. 

“He isn’t here, young one.”

Obi-Wan struggled to his feet, clearing his throat and wiping his eyes with the heel of a hand. His heart pounded. The Force had tested him endlessly from the moment he felt his Master’s sudden passing. Another test stood behind him. He could not dishonor his mentor by running away, not as he wore Ullo’s cloak. More than once, the man had told Obi-Wan “you are my legacy, Padawan, so don’t embarrass me,alright?”. He could almost hear the warm humor, and he fought off more tears. His Master would not whimper in front of another Jedi. 

Especially this one. Obi-Wan straightened, smoothing his tunics as he turned to face Qui-Gon Jinn. The man stood halfway between the pyre and the stairs. His arms were crossed loosely over his broad chest, cowl concealing his features. He could almost be mistaken for one of the Temple’s statues, towering and untouchably serene. Then the wind stirred wisps of grey hair, and reminded Obi-Wan that Jinn was made of flesh after all, and they were both older than they had been on Bandomeer, Gala... Melida/Daan, even if the Padawan looked more like a youngling in Ullo’s oversized robe. 

Qui-Gon closed the gap by a few paces. His boots echoed softly. “I heard of Master Tirr’s passing. I’ve only just returned from Malastaire, or I would have attended the ceremony.”

Obi-Wan bristled at the gentle tone, resented the pitying eyes. He had bowed to Master Windu, to dozens of Jedi as they paid their respects tonight. Obi-Wan possessed an almost compulsory politeness—Ullo often teased him for it—and his first impulse was to bow before his elder. He was a mere apprentice after all, half-trained, and here stood one of the most accomplished Jedi…

Living Jedi…

In the entire Order. But all he could see was Ullo Tirr, his green gaze flashing with annoyance, with another, darker emotion Obi-Wan had never been quite brave enough to mention, on those rare occasions they passed Qui-Gon Jinn in the Temple halls. He could feel the pressure of Ullo’s hand, guiding Obi-Wan closer, guarding him from the maverick Jedi, as if from some lethal contagion. Now, on the most vulnerable night of his life, here was Qui-Gon crossing his path again, except Master Tirr could no longer shield him. And it seemed a betrayal to even meet Jinn’s eyes, or bow to him while Ullo’s ashes cooled at Obi-Wan’s back. Instead he pulled the hood down from his head, and hoped his own eyes looked clear, and that his voice sounded steady. “Thank you, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon took another step. His presence in the Force was surprisingly tentative, different than Obi-Wan remembered. It had been seven years since they last spoke. He supposed he must seem different to Qui-Gon as well, a man instead of a boy, although he still needed to tilt his head upward to meet that dark blue gaze. “Your Master was a good man, and an excellent Jedi. I wish I had been given the chance to know him better.”

“Thank you, Master Jinn”, Obi-Wan repeated, and his aching heart could not help but agree “He was a good man.” It came out as a croak. 

There is no emotion. 

His Master had worn new tunics, cream-colored and carefully pressed, to be burned in. Because his other tunics were singed from nineteen blaster bolts. It didn’t make any sense. Why take off burned clothes in order to set clean ones on fire? Why had the Council assigned Obi-Wan to such a stupid little perfunctory assignment, a glorified errand, while his Master was being chased down and murdered? Before he realized it, he was on his hands and knees, his guts churning into water, his teeth chattering. Master Yoda had told him he needn’t miss Master Tirr, for as long as he could touch the Force, he was still connected to the man’s energy, where it joined with all others in joyous chorus. There is no death there is no death there is no death——

A hand touched his back briefly. Qui-Gon Jinn crouched beside him. “He is not lost in the Force, Padawan. He is a part of it. And so are you.”

Padawan. Padawan. When had his Master called him that for the last time? He would have paid closer attention, had he known… And now, hearing it from Qui-Gon, almost convinced Obi-Wan he was living in some alternate reality. Ullo Tirr was dead, and Qui-Gon Jinn was consoling him, using a title for Obi-Wan he had not heard the man utter in over half a decade. The situation was so absurd that he could feel himself detaching from it, and he used that reprieve to slow his spastic breathing. He sat up, leaning back on his heels. “I felt him pass. I think he was trying to speak to me as it happened, through the Force. Or maybe I just wish he had.” Obi-Wan snorted humorlessly. “We were so far apart. It probably wasn’t possible.”

When he looked at Qui-Gon, he saw patience and compassion, soft lines in the skin around his eyes. “Trust your feelings. A strong bond within the Force can overcome even great distances. What you describe is not unheard of, especially in moments of extreme...stress.”

Obi-Wan’s heart twisted. He sensed regret from Qui-Gon for his choice of words, but they were true. Ullo’s death was violent and quick. It was comforting to imagine the last seconds in his Master’s life being used to communicate with him. Perhaps he would eventually hear Ullo Tirr’s voice when he tried to sleep, instead of the sharp whine of blaster fire. Or would he forget how Ullo sounded, as the years wore on, and Obi-Wan’s years under his tutelage receded ever further into the past? Were these worries themselves sacrilege to the Code? There is no love. No attachments. His thoughts ran together, sadness and confusion and disbelief….he would never see Ullo again...never…

Qui-Gon clasped his shoulders. “Obi-Wan, when was the last time you slept?”

The younger Jedi blinked. He was preparing to rest on the transport when he felt the sick flash of death in the Force, and he wretched in the ‘fresher sink. After he landed, there was so much to do; at night, when the rest of the Temple stilled, Obi-Wan found more things to do, because he didn’t want to dream, or even lay quietly in his bed. He wasn’t accustomed to quiet. His Master could fill any empty space with his gregarious spirit, so when he was around it was never truly silent, or dark, or lonely. A lump formed in Obi-Wan’s throat. “I miss him.” He whispered.

“I know.” Qui-Gon said, still bracing the Padawan’s slumped shoulders. 

Obi-Wan let new tears fall, hot and unimpeded. “Attachment is forbidden. A Jedi’s heart shouldn’t be susceptible to weakness like this.”

Qui-Gon sighed. “Oh young one, the Order is not looking to create an army of droids. The heart of a Jedi is not immune to pain, nor should it be. What matters is how you respond to the pain. It is not a weakness to mourn your Master.” He touched a calloused thumb to Obi-Wan’s wet cheek. “And it was not a weakness to love him.”

Obi-Wan lowered his head, feeling like a lost youngling, and not just because he was thirteen years old when he was last counseled by Qui-Gon Jinn. He didn’t understand why the venerable Master was even talking to him, any more than he understood why his own Master was taken when the Universe still needed him so badly. When he still needed him. Obi-Wan looked around at the deserted ceremonial grounds and shivered. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“From my experience, the Force rarely follows our plans.” Qui-Gon told him with a small, sad smile. “When we experience loss, we can grow stronger from it, or let it destroy us.”

Suddenly, Obi-Wan remembered Qui-Gon’s anguish following Xanatos’ betrayal and shocking demise in the acid pits on Telos. And other, slightly more recent betrayals. 

Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan to his feet, straightening Ullo’s robe and stepping back, looking fully into the Padawan’s eyes. “I am no stranger to loss.” He paused, glancing at the braid trailing from behind Obi-Wan’s ear. “I carried the shadows with me for far too long. If I had come to terms with them sooner, perhaps…”

There was something unbearable in Qui-Gon’s eyes then, and Obi-Wan looked away, only to see two figures over the broad shoulder. Yoda and Mace Windu stood at the top of the stairs, illuminated by the low Temple lights. The esteemed Jedi were a study in physical contrast, though both wore stern expressions. The Force was abruptly chaotic in a way the Padawan didn’t understand, churning between the Council members and Qui-Gon Jinn. 

Master Windu swept down the stairs, coming to stand beside Obi-Wan. He gave Qui-Gon a tepid look. “Master Jinn, the Council expects to receive your report on the Malastaire mission first thing in the morning.” Then he seemed to dismiss the other man’s presence completely, turning to Obi-Wan. His features softened. “Padawan, I’ll walk you to your quarters.”

Obi-Wan nodded numbly, allowing Master Windu to guide him up the stairs. A Jedi must readily let go of attachments, for the things that grounded and comforted could easily become a crushing weight. He willed himself to be weightless, a proper Jedi like Mace Windu, shoulders squared and soul unburdened. But as they approached the doors, he found himself glancing back, taking in the tableau of his complicated past, and his two teachers, one last time. 

_Forgive me_ , he whispered to the Force, praying that what Qui-Gon had said was true, and that somewhere in its luminous depths, Ullo Tirr could hear him. 

*^*

Qui-Gon watched Mace ascend the stairs with Obi-Wan. In particular he noticed the man’s gentle demeanor, the way his hand remained steady on the younger Jedi’s back. A familiar, unwelcome wave washed over him in the Force, and he was reminded of passing his former apprentice in the halls, or the Gardens, or on his way out of a Council meeting, how Ullo Tirr would deviate from their obvious path to avoid him, forgoing even a friendly nod of acknowledgment, usually customary among fellow Masters. He couldn’t blame Tirr for the protective instinct, and he released any lingering bitterness as a long exhale. If there truly was any animosity Ullo Tirr harbored toward Qui-Gon Jinn, certainly the man was at peace now, beyond the petty skirmishes and grudges of the mortal world. 

“Fool me, you cannot.” The rasping chide startled him; he was so caught up in his own thoughts, he had forgotten Master Yoda’s presence, and the ancient Jedi had apparently noticed. His wrinkled lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Come here, you did,” he motioned to the pyre with his gimer stick, rebuke in his heavy-lidded eyes, “for selfish reasons.”

Indignance flared in Qui-Gon. “I came here to pay respect to Master Tirr,” he paused, aware of what the old Jedi was alluding to, and offended by it, “and to extend my sympathies to Padawan Kenobi.”

“Hhhhmph,” Yoda grunted. The sparse white hairs on his head shifted with the subtle midnight breeze. “An opportunity you see, Master Qui-Gon. Had this opportunity, you did. Squandered, it was. Rescinded, before the Council.”

As if he needed to be reminded. He smoothed the rankle of irritation, nearly before he could feel it. “All I saw tonight was a young Jedi struggling with his pain. Forgive me if I could not ignore the Force’s call.”

“One to ignore the Force’s beckonings, you are not,” Yoda concurred,“but from the Force, not always do they originate.”

Now Qui-Gon grunted. Troll. “With all due respect, I do not appreciate the insinuation, Master.”

The tiny Council member chuckled. “Appreciate the poke of a needle, you do not, except when it contains anti-venom.”

“Bending the will of the Force to suit one’s own needs is as dangerous as a kretch’s sting. I do not disagree. But I have always followed the Force to the best of my ability.” He saw Obi-Wan again, walking up the stairs. Always walking away. “And in those instances when I have been mistaken, I’ve done what I can to atone.”

“Hmmmmph,” Yoda nodded, wrapping his gnarled claws around the gimer stick and resting his chin on top, “Asked to complete his training, Master Windu has.”

Qui-Gon’s heart missed a beat. “I…” He hesitated, “You have agreed?”

“Agreed to nothing I have, until time to ask young Obi-Wan, it is.” The wise green eyes drifted up to Qui-Gon’s. “And that time, it is not.” The warning in Yoda’s voice was unmistakable, and plainly demanding of obedience. 

Qui-Gon was weary. He slid to the ground, where he so recently consoled Obi-Wan, and crossed his legs. The night was colder; the smell of ash lingered. “I tried to get him back,” he said quietly. “You know I did, Master.”

Yoda kneeled beside him, and it would seem to any other Jedi that they were about to begin a shared meditation. “Know that, I do.” The tone was milder, “Always resistant to training an apprentice, was Knight Tirr. Brought him to Melida/Daan, the Force did. To Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon studied his hands. How old they looked, the deep lines and scars of decades, when Yoda spoke of youth and promise. A destiny that he removed himself from, out of fear or pride. “That day...I looked at him and was worried I was seeing another Xanatos, another rejection of my teachings.” He sighed. “I was angry. Hurt, that he could raise his saber against me, when he had pledged to follow my word.”

“Wrong he was, as always wrong, it is, to use the weapon of a Jedi against another Jedi. But in his actions, malice there was not. Nor darkness. See this, Knight Tirr did, when he retrieved Obi-Wan from Melida/Daan.”

His stomach twisted. It was the deepest shame of his life, one he had never managed to shed. “I asked you for another chance. I wanted to make things right with him.” He could not waver now, he had to say it, even in the face of the old Jedi’s judgement, “I still do.”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully. “Challenge Master Windu’s offer, then, you do?”

Qui-Gon paused. Mace Windu was a highly respected member of the Council, an accomplished teacher, with a sterling reputation—especially against a branded maverick like himself. “Master Yoda, you said you needed to ask Obi-Wan if he will accept Master Windu’s to complete his training. After I came to you, and expressed my regret about Melida/Daan, did you tell him?” 

“Discuss your feelings with Tirr, I did. Padawan Kenobi’s decision, it was.”

The sharp pang of surprise made him thankful he was sitting down. He had always assumed the Council denied his request to reinstate Obi-Wan as his apprentice. Even his attempts at contacting his former Padawan were blocked. The next time he saw Obi-Wan, he was at Ullo Tirr’s side, and Qui-Gon realized a new bond had already been formed. Obi-Wan’s devastation tonight was a testament to the strength of that connection. No matter how he had envied Tirr, Qui-Gon appreciated the man’s commitment to Obi-Wan. At least the boy had been given a second chance, even if he didn’t find Qui-Gon deserving of one. He looked at Master Yoda, not bothering to shield his sadness within the Force or his eyes, “Receiving Mace’s offer will be a great honor for him.”

Yoda met his gaze, but said nothing. 

The wind swept more of Ullo Tirr into the night. The two Masters remained in silent vigil until the dawn broke over the horizon, and another day began. 

^*^

When a Padawan lost their Master before Knighthood, they were given a black bead, to be woven into their braid by their new mentor. A marker of death, a gesture of renewal. Master Windu had pressed the bead into Obi-Wan’s palm after the funeral, outside the quarters he once shared with Ullo. 

It had felt cold in his hand, and he didn’t think it was possible to hate an inanimate object as much as Obi-Wan hated the thing. Usually a new bead symbolized growth and achievement. All he had learned from Ullo’s death was that he could walk around with gaping holes in his heart, and after a few days, no one would notice anymore. He was given two days to mourn, which he spent wandering the Temple, drowning in memories. He did not sleep, and resumed his regular classes and appeared where he needed to when he was expected to. Thirteen days after Ullo’s cremation, Master Windu came to see him again, this time in the Gardens. 

Obi-Wan was sitting on a bench, staring at nothing, when he realized the dark-skinned man was standing before him. He scrambled to his feet and sketched a hasty bow. “Master Windu.”

“Good afternoon, Obi-Wan. May I join you?”

Was it afternoon? His head throbbed faintly all the time. He thought he came into the Gardens to avoid morning meal. “Yes, of course, Master.” Mace drew his cloak elegantly around him and settled on the edge of the bench. 

The younger Jedi sat down again, smoothing his tabards in an attempt at presentability. Master Windu had been a mythical figure to Obi-Wan as a youngling. A formidable warrior and powerful speaker, he was the sort of Jedi Obi-Wan strove to emulate, despite being utterly intimidated in Windu’s presence. And he had never spoken to Master Windu one-on-one like this, something he felt ill-prepared to handle now. 

Mace’s eyes up close were warm brown. Obi-Wan saw kindness in their depths, compassion and sympathy that he sorely, guiltily, craved. “I know this has been a difficult time for you, Padawan.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s knee. “Ullo was a friend of mine.”

Obi-Wan had grown accustomed to the pang whenever his slain teacher’s name was mentioned. He didn’t know Ullo and Mace were friends, but then, his Master had been friends with everyone. Well, almost. “Thank you, Master Windu. I’m alright.” He guessed the Council member could sense the dubious conviction in his voice, but what else could he say? Certainly not the truth. 

If Mace did indeed detect the lie, he was merciful enough to overlook it. “Some years ago, Ullo came to me, asking a...favor. Do you have the bead I gave you?”

It took several seconds for his turgid mind to comprehend the meaning of the question. His skin prickled; he realized he was gaping at Mace Windu, and came back to himself, grappling for the bead, tucked away in his belt that awful night. He looked at it, a little piece of obsidian glinting in the Gardens’ light, only now feeling its true weight. He thought Mace had bestowed the bead to him on behalf of the Order, the last ritual connected to his Master’s death. But it seemed to mean more than Obi-Wan thought. Destiny. Another chapter in the unexpected chronicle of his life. He didn’t know what else to do but place the bead in Windu’s outstretched hand. 

Mace smiled at him briefly. “Your Master wanted to safeguard your future, in the event he was unable to complete your training.”

Obi-Wan held his breath. 

There was an earnest quality to the Master’s tone that bordered on sentimental. Mace released a slow breath before continuing, “He asked me to finish your training, Obi-Wan.”

The words echoed through his shocked head. In the fortnight since Ullo’s death, it had never occurred to Obi-Wan that he would be assigned a new mentor. Through the haze of reeling grief, worries of his own future were nonexistent. It was hard enough to perform daily functions without Ullo, let alone consider what plans would be made to replace him--and with Master Windu, an option that would have seemed totally inconceivable, until this moment. His throat was dry. With grim humor, he wondered how Master Ullo would react to his student’s rare speechlessness. 

_“I’ve always been puzzled by your dislike of politicians.” Brilliant green eyes flashed, a lip curled, “You could talk circles around the biggest blowhards in the Senate.”_

Mace touched his shoulder. “Ullo Tirr was a true Jedi, guided always by the Light, and a fitting Master for you. As a team, you were inspirational, a model on which many other Masters and Padawans would benefit to draw inspiration.” His dark eyes were focused on Obi-Wan, steady, purposeful. “You and I cannot duplicate that partnership. It was unique.”

Those holes in his heart throbbed with acute intensity. It hurt to talk about Ullo, but it was also all he wanted to talk about, and it was comforting to do so with someone who knew him well. Like a salve that both burned and soothed tender wounds. 

“But perhaps, in time, we could forge our own path together. Different than the one you carved with Master Tirr, but leading to the same sacred destination.” Mace opened his palm to reveal the black bead once more, waiting. 

Knighthood. Obi-Wan looked at the wide, battle-scarred hand, the tiny symbol of loss and rebirth cradled there. He tried to imagine kneeling before Master Windu, years from now, as the man cut his braid. Master Ullo had told him he was adept at foresight, that it was a gift from the Force itself, but he just couldn’t conjure a clear picture of the future Mace described. He knew it must be his childish obstinance, an inappropriate attachment to his slain mentor, especially for a Padawan of nineteen. Resisting change isn’t going to bring Ullo back, he chided himself. And what apprentice of any age would not be deeply flattered to receive an offer of training from one of the Order’s most accomplished members? 

Resolute, and with a sting in his eye, Obi-Wan closed his hand over the bead, linking his fingers with Mace Windu’s, weaving them together like the plaits of a braid.

The Gardens were quiet, save a persistent, nameless thrumming in the Force. 

*^*


	2. Part II

PART II 

 

The salle was overrun with initiates, the sound of clashing practice sabers bouncing off the Temple walls, the air musked with perspiration. Qui-Gon Jinn watched the youthful melee from his perch on the balcony above. His gaze roamed between each fledgling Jedi, their individual lights in the Force almost painfully bright, resplendent with hope and joy and anxiety. It was an uneasy time for most of the children, as they sought to control the usual mixture of hormones and emotions, to present the proper image of a Jedi for potential Masters. This clan was full of twelve year olds, and so the pressure to impress was especially strong. Most of these initiates would need to be claimed for apprenticeships in the next few months, or else be assigned alternative positions within the Order. For some, farming or medical training was the best choice and came as a relief, but others would be devastated by the rejection of what they spent their entire, albeit short, lives preparing for. The uncertainty made their current play feel all the more sacred in the Force.

He was reminded of the first time he looked up in the same salle and saw Master Dooku, watching him from the mezzanine where he now stood. He had felt a questing probe at the edges of his mind, the exquisitely restrained and aloof signature of the man who would be his mentor for a dozen years, the measuring gaze of black, dispassionate eyes. 

That memory paled beside the ones that came after. In vivid detail, he saw his previous apprentices, as they had been so long ago, still soft-shouldered, spirited and untouched by the harsher elements of the galaxy. Feemor, Xanatos, Obi-Wan...the last so brief, he wondered if the partnership even counted in an official capacity. Now here he was again, watching another crop of soon-to-be Padawans, hoping to feel that same pull in the Force. 

No doubt the Council would be surprised. He had spent the last six years on solo missions, avoiding the Initiate’s Wing, even when Tahl needled him and tried to physically sway him down that corridor, her slender hands warm and well-meaning. 

_“You’re a born teacher, Qui. Why must you stew in your perceived failures, when you could be training another student?”_

_“It is not a perceived failure, it’s just a failure. I failed my last apprentice twice-over. Not to mention Xanatos. If I’m a born teacher, you’re the doppelgänger of a Huttese gangster.”_

While Tahl still urged him to take on a new charge, the Council seemed content with his decision not to teach. He had no shortage of tasks that took him across the universe, and in the midst of tense negotiations, or downright peril, he never had to worry about protecting a vulnerable protégé. He was happy to speak with Feemor on the rare instances they were both on the same planet.

Yet here he was, observing a room of younglings that deserved more than a Master with his track record of training apprentices to Knighthood. He sighed at the subtle yearning in his heart. Perhaps Tahl was right. She usually was. 

Mace had no doubt presented Obi-Wan with an official offer by now, he thought, watching a pair of initiates laugh as they crossed blades. He was letting go of the ridiculous, inappropriate hope that had sprung up inside him, at the notion of another try with his one-time Padawan. He sensed no dark feelings from the young man when they last met, after Master Tirr’s funeral. Obi-Wan Kenobi did not hate him. 

He just didn’t want to be his apprentice again.

And who could blame him? Qui-Gon had committed a grave error, left the naive,untested boy alone on a tumultuous planet, would not return for him despite the protestations of Yoda, Tahl, and Mace Windu himself. It was Ullo Tirr who heard of Obi-Wan’s predicament and immediately rerouted his ship to Melida/Daan, and earned the child’s trust by the time they returned to the Temple. 

Trust as well as loyalty, considering Obi-Wan chose to begin a new apprenticeship with Tirr, rather than forgive Qui-Gon. It was a bitter truth to endure, but he was glad Yoda had finally told him that it was the boy’s decision, rather than the Council’s. At least he knew Obi-Wan had been happy under Ullo Tirr’s wing, and would likely flourish just as well with an experienced Master like Mace to guide him. Still, he could not help caring for Obi-Wan, even if it was from a mute distance. 

He was a born teacher, after all.

^*^

_The pain seared through the Force, so severe that at first he thought it was his own. His eyes snapped open and he was on his feet instantly, flinging his hand out to summon his cloak as he flew from his dark, still quarters._

_Qui-Gon Jinn pounded down the hallways, heart thudding as hard as his feet. A docent paused in her mopping to send him a worried glance, but he swept past, his gait quickening to a run. It was not his own pain, but the terrible impressions of another’s agony, and the Force vibrated with worry. Instinct led him to the Halls of Healing, and he stalked through the pristine white labyrinth with growing certainty._

_He waved off several apprentice healers, his eyes scanning until he came to the Intensive Unit, his senses set to blazing. He walked straight to a sealed door, where he was stopped by an older, male healer he only faintly recognized. He preferred to treat his ailments himself, and had visited the healing halls less than a handful of times in recent years._

_The sharp, antiseptic smell never changed. Nor did the grave faces of annoyed healers. “No visitors, Master Jedi. I apologize.”_

_Qui-Gon batted away his irritation. “I need to see this patient, immediately.” He imbued the statement with unflinching authority._

_But the healer didn’t flinch either. “This patient is in critical condition. I have only permitted his Master access to the room out of compassion for the unlikelihood of his recovery.”_

_No. No no no. His chest ached. “Please, I---”_

_Just then, the silver door slid open, revealing the somber figure of Ullo Tirr. The younger Master’s eyes were hooded in weary shadow, and his mouth set in a firm line. “Master Jinn,” he greeted flatly, “I expected you’d find your way here.”_

_Qui-Gon barely noted the irritation in Tirr’s voice. “How is he?”_

_‘He’. Here, in this context, the word was overflowing with history, resentment, and pain, but above all, a protective affection neither man could deny. Ullo cleared his throat, where black stubble peppered across olive skin. “He’s dying.” Ullo Tirr said, and stepped to the side, a silent invitation._

_The healer appeared to sense the gravity of the gesture, and quietly retreated._

_Qui-Gon ducked inside the little room. The walls were grey and unadorned. A soft beeping punctuated the silence with comforting regularity. Obi-Wan Kenobi lay in the bed, his face concealed behind a bulky breathing mask. His eyes were closed, hair matted and flat._

_“He looks small, doesn’t he?” Tirr remarked, sitting in a molded chair at his Padawan’s beside, lowering himself with a strained grunt._

_“Yes.” The Padawan was indeed dwarfed by the sprawl of machines and equipment. Qui-Gon glanced over at Tirr and noticed the man was rather sallow and diminished himself. “What happened?” He asked softly._

_Ullo ran a hand over his face. “Rattatak. There was a poison gas attack on villagers. He went back for a child that fell behind. I’ve recovered mostly, but his system is taking it hard.” His emerald eyes were shot through with red, shining with a moisture a fellow Jedi would never remark upon. “The healers weren’t convinced he would survive the trip back to Coruscant. He was in...extreme pain. They just got him stabilized.”_

_Qui-Gon let the anguish flow through him, a hand resting on the sleep cot. “I felt it.”_

_Ullo snorted at that, combing fingers through his wilted, dark hair. The Force roiled. “I bet you did.”_

_Qui-Gon looked up from Obi-Wan’s pale, bruised form, locking eyes with Tirr across the cramped space. He would not be riled by the comment. Nor would he argue with a grieving man fifteen years his junior. “I was once his Master, no matter what transpired after.”_

_“How could I forget?” Ullo sat straighter, bolstered by years-long resentment. “You were the subject of most of his nightmares, especially in the beginning. It took serious focus for him to overcome those ghosts.” A pause, then, “I had to beg him to leave Melida/Daan with me, he was so scarred by what he saw. What was done to him. Did you feel that, Master Jinn?”_

_The image of Obi-Wan on that damnable planet rose, unbidden, in Qui-Gon’s mind. The boy had been so young. “No, I didn’t. I closed our link, after I...after I left.”_

_Ullo’s smirk was humorless. “I was just a stupid kid myself at the time, and even I could see he just needed guidance and more experience. His heart was huge, and broken by seeing real suffering for the first time. It was your job to lead him through that trial, not shed him like he was some...some_ inconvenience _.”_

_Qui-Gon absorbed the blows. He knew that he deserved them. “There is no explanation for my past behavior. None that is acceptable.. I have spent countless hours trying to atone in the Force.” He studied Obi-Wan’s slack features, searching for a glimmer of awareness._

_Ullo leaned back in the chair, visibly exhausted. The fight had already drained out of him. “As much as it pains me to say it, I owe you a debt, Master Jinn. If you hadn’t abandoned Obi-Wan, I’d never have found him. I didn’t want an apprentice...ever. I just didn’t think it was in me.” His tired eyes softened as they took in the sleeping form on the bed. “He changed my mind, without trying.”_

_Qui-Gon nodded, recalling how the boy had similarly convinced him years before, on Bandomeer. The serendipitous, unforgettable moment when the link was first formed between them in the Force. “He has a way of doing that.”_

_The other man slid carefully to his feet, and stood at Obi-Wan’s bed, taking a limp hand in his own. He kept his eyes down, on the blanched fingers. “I don’t really feel like being delicate with you right now, Master Jinn. It annoys me that you can still sense him at all. That’s not very Jed-like, but it’s how I feel.” Ullo shrugged. “You proved yourself unworthy to be his Master.”_

_Qui-Gon listened to Obi-Wan’s soft, assisted breathing, centering himself. “Is that why you invited me in here, Master Tirr? To berate me for things I cannot change?”_

_Ullo shook his head, reaching out to touch a pallid cheek. “He has visions. I used to think it was just bad dreams compounded by his tendency to worry.” He looked up at Qui-Gon, and his face bore naked, obvious pain; in that moment Ullo Tirr seemed no older than his apprentice. “And then, he started having the same vision almost every night. He wasn’t sleeping. His shields slammed up like a damned drawbridge. I had to threaten to haul him before the Council for disobedience before he would describe what he was seeing.”_

_Qui-Gon’s eyes narrowed with apprehensive interest. “What was he seeing?”_

_“It was the destruction of our bond. He didn’t know how it would happen—-just that we would be torn apart.” Ullo’s voice had dwindled to a hoarse half-whisper. “I tried to assure him that visions are untrustworthy, but these feelings of his, they’ve been right so many times before…”_

_Qui-Gon reached across Obi-Wan’s prone form, to grip the man’s wrist. The pulse beneath his fingers beat wildly. “YOU are right. Visions are not a guarantee of the future.”_

_Tirr’s green eyes were bright and fearful. “The healers said—-“_

_Qui-Gon’s heart trembled, but he did not loosen his hold on the struggling young Master. “I know what the healers said. But I also know Obi-Wan. He is obstinate, determined, and more powerful in the Force than he has any right to be. This is not hopeless.”_

_Ullo’s unkempt hair fell around his shoulders. He appeared on the verge of complete collapse, tunics soiled and boots caked in sludge. The two Masters stood across the medical bed, a meter that may as well have been a chasm, bridged only by a dying Padawan. “I---I don’t know what I’ll do--” He choked out. His panic was a sour, metallic burn in the Force._

_“That doesn’t matter.” Qui-Gon insisted fiercely, swallowing his own desperate fear, “It doesn’t matter what you’ll do, in some possible outcome. What matters is what you--what WE--do now. Remain in the moment, Master Tirr. What can we do now to help him?”_

_Ullo wet his cracked lips. Dread still emanated from him; yet he lifted his chin, the Force gathering around him, Light to chase off the spectre of death. He locked his gaze with Qui-Gon’s. “Can you help me?”_

_Qui-Gon spared a moment to appreciate the sheer humbleness of the request. This was a man who all but despised him. In any other situation, Ullo Tirr would commit self-immolation before asking Qui-Gon Jinn for so much as a muja fruit. He gazed down at Obi-Wan. His skin was pasty, striated with angry red streaks—the poison. He knew the prognosis was grim, could feel the pity emanating from the healer. Mournful shadows hovered. Darkness, biding its time, waiting to stake its claim._

_But Obi-Wan Kenobi was made of Light, and survival was not always dependent on machines and healers. His two Masters, past and present, stood over him, each taking one of his hands._

_Qui-Gon Jinn and Ullo Tirr looked at each other once more, a truce, however temporary, replacing animosity and jealousy, a precious, shared purpose joining them in the Force. Both men pressed their free hand to the Padawan’s chest. Together, they closed their eyes._

_Hours, minutes, seconds passed. Or no time at all. When Qui-Gon submerged from the deep healing trance, the first thing he saw was a pair of confused, watery blue eyes blinking up at him.Monitors were wailing, and before he could lean forward, to finally speak to his former apprentice, healers descended on the little room._

_Ullo Tirr grasped Obi-Wan’s hand in both of his own, bringing it to his lips, tears freely coursing down his face. Obi-Wan struggled to smile around the breathing mask. Qui-Gon could see the boy’s fingers attempting to return pressure._

_A healer gently shouldered by him, leaning over the patient, muttering thanks to the Force as she marveled at this sudden, inexplicable progress._

_When Qui-Gon at last tore his gaze from Obi-Wan, he realized Ullo Tirr was staring at him, over the sea of tubes and instruments and bowed heads of the busy healers. Gratitude shone from the young Master, before the guarded coolness resettled in his eyes._

_Qui-Gon nodded once in solemn acknowledgment. Words welled up in his chest, things he had hoped to say when the moment presented itself, but then Obi-Wan was being wheeled out of the room, Master Tirr steadfastly gripping the bed’s railing, and no one glanced back at the Jedi still standing in the deserted room._

_He absorbed the lingering energy, the fading imprints of Obi-Wan and Ullo Tirr. It smarted to be treated as a nonentity, when he had just poured his entire existence into saving the boy, but he also knew he held absolutely no claim to him. He had willingly surrendered the privilege to stand at Obi-Wan Kenobi’s side. It seemed unlikely he would get another opportunity to express his regrets. Chances were the boy’s bleary mind would not retain the memory of his old Master’s healing efforts._

_It was for the best, Qui-Gon decided, walking at a slow, weary pace back to his quarters. Now that he had seen for himself that Obi-Wan was in capable hands, he would not interfere. He entered his dark rooms and sat heavily at the edge of his sleep couch._

_The remnants of that years-gone connection still glinted in the Force. It was a foolish man that clung to the past. A Jedi could not afford to be foolish. He drew his legs into a meditative pose and let his eyelids droop._

_He found those buried threads of illumination, caressing them briefly in the Force, before letting them dissolve completely. If he heard a faint, faraway cry, he dismissed it as a mirage of his own exhausted mind, and he tumbled into black, numb sleep._

^*^

Tahl’s door opened before he could hit the chime. She stood before him, delicate fingers splayed along the doorframe, filling his senses with her liquid grace and mild concern. Those sightless green-gold eyes were somehow still expressive. _Too_ expressive. 

“Did you see anything promising today?” She wondered, crossing her arms casually over her chest. 

He sighed. There was no use lying to her. “No.”

“Me either,” She quipped, and beckoned him inside. 

They sat with space between them, knees touching. For several minutes, the Masters merely drank tea in familiar, companionable silence. Eventually Tahl set her cup and saucer down, and Qui-Gon felt the atmosphere shift.

“You should take another Padawan. Maybe it would cure you of your brooding ways.” The corner of her lip curled slightly. “Or at least, keep you from darkening my doorway so often.”

Qui-Gon smiled. “Perhaps you should peruse the initiates, Master Tahl. You would have less time to nag your very busy and perfectly fulfilled peers.”

The humor in her smooth, tan face faltered. “I have not been given medical release to accept missions, let alone provide for a protege. Or else I would.” Her tone was barbed with resentment. She was a gifted Jedi and compassionate teacher.

He brushed her hand. “The Order is diminished by your involuntary sabbatical, my friend. If I could trade places—-“

She pulled away. “I appreciate the silly sentiment, even if the Code does not. But I would not want to trade places with you. Your beard alone requires more maintenance than I have the patience for.”

He chuckled, watching her fiddle absentmindedly with a stray thread on his cloak sleeve. “Patience is not always a virtue.”

“Ah,” Tahl’s spirit flagged a bit, in empathy. “So...you aren’t….?”

The question hung in the air, already answered. 

Now she reached for his hand, and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Qui-Gon. I know you had hoped…”

He ran his thumb along hers. “Mace asked the Council for permission to complete his training. I’m sure Obi-Wan will accept.”

The Force was warm with her compassion, and another emotion to be left unnamed between Jedi. But he was a rule breaker, the so-called maverick of the Order. He was anchored by Tahl’s mere presence, and unrepentant for it. “I’m alright,” he promised, anticipating her next inquiry. “The Council would never have allowed it anyway.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “A third Master.” She murmured.

The first Master leaned into Tahl’s temple, and was quiet. 

“You could ask him, you know.” Her voice lifted from the shadows of burgeoning nightfall. “There’s nothing keeping you from simply asking.”

“Except that he rejected my offer of reconciliation, years ago.”

Tahl sat up, turning towards him, though she could not see his pained expression. “He did?” Her shock rolled through the Force. “When did you find that out?”

“Quite recently.” He took another sip of lukewarm tea. “I think Yoda was sparing me from embarrassment. Or sparing Obi-Wan the awkward task of turning me down, apparently for a second time.”

She paused, wheels turning. “He’s older, Qui. How do you know he would respond the same way now?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. Obi-Wan was startled by Qui-Gon’s appearance after Tirr’s memorial, but the Master detected no darker emotions, no rancor, in him that night, aside from confusion and obvious despair. “I do know what Ullo Tirr thought of me.”

Tahl stroked his cheek. “Ullo Tirr was mistaken.”

Qui-Gon captured her slim wrist, to prevent the comforting touch from retreating too quickly. “If only others agreed with you.”

His dear friend sighed. “Qui-Gon, if only you would try.”

Qui-Gon’s eye twitched. No one could ruffle his calm like her. It was infuriating and bewitching. “I’m older too. Too old to pick a fight with Mace Windu.”

Her mouth hung open. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

Qui-Gon leaned back on the couch, observing the slits of moonlight from between the window blinds. “Don’t worry. I have no plans to retire from my life of perpetual defiance. But I’ve learned to pick my battles, and this is one I cannot win.”

Tahl huffed. “The Force keeps drawing you to Obi-Wan.”

He smiled ruefully. “But it has a terrible time keeping us together.”

“It has plenty of help in that regard,” She said, walking to the kitchen to rinse the empty carafe, leaving him with his turbulent thoughts. 

^*^


	3. Part III

Part III

In order to commit to Obi-Wan’s tutelage, Mace Windu voluntarily reduced his role on the Jedi Council. However, the Korun Master still had loose ends to tie up before he could accept off-planet missions, which meant Obi-Wan spent his first days as Windu’s Padawan mostly alone, attending classes and performing independent research to fill the time and keep his mind occupied.

In the evenings, such as this one, he returned to his temporary lodgings: a spare, narrow space with a bed and basic ‘fresher unit, reserved for Knights who rarely stayed on Coruscant. He was privately relieved that Master Windu quarters were too small to house him; it would take another week, at least, to complete the move to a larger apartment within the Temple, and Obi-Wan appreciated the time to process the transition. 

It was natural to be alone, even in a building full of brethren. A Jedi’s journey was solitary, with fleeting respite from that isolation. Perhaps Mace Windu would usher him into Knighthood, or perhaps he would perish tomorrow, or a year from now, or Obi-Wan himself would die, meet the Force in some violent fashion like Master Tirr. 

He had learned the harsh lesson of the dangers of attachment. He would carry the scars inside, always. And he would not make the mistake again. Master Windu was the model of Jedi detachment: compassionate and untouchable. The man was diligent in communicating with his new apprentice, sending instructive messages at dawn and, if they did not meet sometime during the light hours, again at nightfall. When he noticed his blinking comm, he had to remind himself it would not be Ullo’s exuberant voice emitting from the machine. Soon enough, he would grow accustomed to Mace Windu’s more controlled mien. 

A Jedi was ever adaptable. Life was change. The Force was life.

He repeated the words as he laid back on his sleep cot, staring up at the bland ceiling. His joints burned. The irrepressible headache ground behind his temples, worsened by physical exhaustion. In his studies, he had found some interesting passages concerning Jedi who learned to forego sleep completely. It was an unconventional goal—he knew Master Windu would disapprove—but the permanent avoidance of dreaming tempted him. He had not told his new mentor about the grotesque images that plagued his attempts at slumber. 

Ullo Tirr’s face, frozen in a mask of sudden, painful death. The slain Master’s eyes jolting open among a sea of wrenching darkness, the beloved emerald gaze he remembered polluted with sick, yellow shadow, boring through Obi-Wan with disapproval and disgust. 

And more, a smeared jumble of visions, fire and screams and overwhelming, crushing devastation.The Force itself cried out—

Obi-Wan sat up, heart thundering so he could feel it as bile at the back of his throat. He had only drifted for a few minutes. The nightmares were coming quicker now. Before long, permanent insomnia would not be a choice. 

Despite his weariness, he knew he had to move, and no one would be at the salles this late. He shrugged into his cloak and started down the empty Temple halls, hoping the residue of nightmare could be cleansed with the breaking of pure, honest sweat.

^*^

_He gripped the railing until his knuckles turned white, leaning over the balcony, gulping exhaust from the passing air cars. He screwed his eyes shut, but the shuddering incubus was still there. Obi-Wan grappled for the Force through the maelstrom of confusion and darkness, needing that core of peace to center himself, to banish the vision and all the emotions it stirred within him._

_This was not a gift he wanted anymore. The child inside him raged against it, chanting take it back take it back take it back, though the Force and evening breeze remained indifferent to his begging._

_“Padawan?”_

_Master Ullo’s voice was an anchor; he took hold of it, clutching tight, the symbol of reality and sanity that would keep him from being swept away into the catacombs of this unstoppable nightmare. He felt a hand on his back, but could not meet his teacher’s concerned gaze, out of shame or fear or both._

_He sensed patience from the older Jedi. Ullo Tirr was lively, spirited….patently inpatient. It was rare to see his inner fire so mellowed, though he was calmer than he had been in the first months of their partnership. A second set of hands wrapped around the thin durasteel, beside his own._

_Together, Master and apprentice waited out the storm._

_When Obi-Wan finally looked up at Ullo, the viridescent gaze was steady and understanding. “Same one?” The Master asked, though they both knew it was. It was always the same._

_Except it was worse now, after his brush with death on Rattatak. Obi-Wan nodded._

_Ullo sighed. “Dreams pass in time,” he told his Padawan, after a heavy pause. “Your ordeal was not so long ago. Your brain could still be processing everything.”_

_“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, without much faith. Despite Ullo’s dismissal of the dream, it was still causing him exhaustion, worry...and a muddled kind of confusion, a truth he could only nearly touch… “Master?”_

_Ullo’s black hair stirred in the manufactured wind. He frowned. “What’s wrong, young one?”_

_Obi-Wan watched speeders cut across the night, streams of smoke and lines of electric light. How could he put into words a feeling he could barely comprehend himself? “Rattatak took something from me.” He said at last, shoulders sagging._

_He felt the flare of alarm from his Master. Ullo touched his arm. “What do you mean?” The tone was careful. “Do you still feel sick?”_

_Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, I’m fine in that regard, Master,” he said assuringly. Ullo was attentive and anxious during his convalescence from the poison gas attack. He remembered first waking in the Healer’s Ward, his vision running together like a watercolor, finding the face of his teacher among a mass of faces. He had never seen such open relief, or disregard for proper Jedi etiquette, as when Ullo Tirr seized his apprentice’s cheeks in both hands, and laid a trembling kiss on his forehead._

_But during his recovery, Obi-Wan realized he felt an absence within himself, like a snuffed out star in the Force’s constellation. He thought it would return when he regained his full strength, yet months later, that distant spot of warmth was still missing. “I don’t quite know how to put it into words.”_

_Ullo searched his eyes, but remained silent._

_Obi-Wan stared at the sleeve of his sleep shirt. “The ancient Masters describe the Force as a symphony. So it’s as if a note has been silenced within me.”_

_The older Jedi gently tugged on the thin Padawan braid. “That’s you not knowing how to put something into words?” He teased. “Somehow I’ve raised an orator. My own Master would be shocked.”_

_Obi-Wan appreciated Ullo’s need for levity. It balanced his own tendency to brood._

_Ullo leaned back against the balcony, crossing his arms over his bare chest. His loose pants pooled over his feet. The man cocked a brow at Obi-Wan. “You’re not looking at my toes, are you? You know I’m insecure about my toes.”_

_Despite the cloud of bewilderment still hovering around him, Obi-Wan laughed. “Your toes are perfectly good, Master. I’ve read that in some cultures, long toes are considered a sign of wisdom.”_

_“Ah, I_ knew _it,” Ullo smirked with satisfaction, “Here I thought you just had the Master with the longest toes in the Order, when in actuality you’ve also got the wisest Master.”_

_“Not to mention the most humble,” Obi-Wan added. He felt the weight of his vision lift, a little. Their bond had survived Rattatak, and a host of other calamities. Whatever threat plagued his dreams could not overpower them._

_Ullo caught the shift in his apprentice’s mood. He took Obi-Wan’s chin in his hand. Their eyes locked. “You are my orator, diplomat, and deep thinker. Sometimes too deep, Padawan.” He smiled, but his voice was stern, imploring. “Nothing has been taken from you. If anything, you are stronger for living through Rattatak.”_

_Obi-Wan felt echoes of his Master’s conviction ripple through the Force, though he also sensed a subtle tightening of shields. It was not a Padawan’s place to question such things, however, even if they had an informal training style compared to other teams. “You honor me, my Master,” he answered softly, giving a shallow bow._

_Ullo chuckled. The wind picked up, buffeting their hair and baggy sleep clothes. “You honor and amuse me, my apprentice.” He clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder and motioned toward their quarters. “Now can we go inside, before my long, wise toes freeze?”_

_Obi-Wan followed his mentor through the sliding door, steps lighter, leaving his worries about missing notes and fallen stars to the bustling night behind them._

—-

The dojo was dark and empty, as Obi-Wan expected. His steps echoed in the grand space. He paused to slip off his boots and sleep tunic. He considered activating the lights on a low setting, but didn’t want to disturb anyone--or draw any attention to himself. The tranquility of his slumbering peers was soothing; the apprentice brushed against their collective presence in the Force . Even if he never slept again, it was both comforting and frustrating to know that life as usual went on around him.

Without Ullo.

He swallowed a familiar lump in his throat, and began the typical pre-kata stretching exercises. His body moved into the poses without thought, muscles recalling a thousand practices before this one. Recent memories of his Master leading him through the more advanced techniques burned brightly and painfully in his mind. 

_“You’ll be a Senior Padawan soon. And too soon after that, a Knight. You’ll surpass me in no time, but don’t forget to visit me at the Home for Old and Tired Jedi every once in awhile.”_

A sudden chill pinched his bare skin. When would his heart catch up to his brain, his sadness and childish denial give way to reason? He was twenty years old, had watched Ullo’s cremation with his own eyes, yet he still caught himself waiting to hear the buoyant laughter, or feel a guiding hand on his elbow. If he didn’t find a way to release these haunting thoughts, Master Windu would surely begin to take notice of them. He was the apprentice of a senior member of the Jedi Council now, and would be held to the highest standards. The no attachments tenant was a crucial foundation to the Code. He neither wanted nor expected Mace Windu to help him cope with his emotional failings. 

Master Ullo was more attuned to the heart. He felt things strongly, and was never embarrassed of his sentimentality. He had not been discovered by the Jedi until after his third birthday, so he kindled faint images of home, love, family. Ullo told as much to his apprentice: _“Now the Temple is my home, the Force is all-encompassing love, and you are my family, Padawan.”_ Maybe traditional Jedi, like Mace Windu, would consider that confession a violation of the Order. Obi-Wan himself counted the moment as sacred, even if it was blasphemous.

Another difference between Ullo Tirr and Mace Windu was the way they handled a saber. Master Tirr favored the classic Ataru form, while Windu pioneered Vaapad, a fierce fighting style about which Obi-Wan admittedly knew very little. He had asked Jocasta Nu for any archival information on Vaapad, but she only raised a severe, gray eyebrow and in a clipped tone urged him to appreciate the classics. Then he caught up with Cin Drallig as the head lightsaber instructor finished up a demonstration. Less chiding than Nu, instead Drallig chuckled and told Obi-Wan even he was a hopeless novice of Vaapad compared to Mace Windu. 

He had planned to study the introductory moves of Master Windu’s signature style as a gesture of gratitude to the man who would finish his training, who had honored the promise made to Ullo. Most Padawans in Obi-Wan’s generation had sat in rapt audience while Mace dueled with other Masters. The dark-skinned fighter, wielding his unique violet blade, would dart so swiftly around his opponent that he became a blur of speed and deadly precision. Obi-Wan knew he could not perfectly emulate those breathless performances, but he thought he recalled enough details to do a serviceable execution. At least for a beginner. 

He stood with his legs together and closed his eyes, taking a long, centering breath. He pictured fingers, wrapped around his chaotic thoughts, fistfuls of grief and anger and doubt. As he opened his eyes, the fists released, his thoughts fell away, and he called his weapon from its sheath to his palm. _Let go. Let go, Jedi._ He pressed the well-worn button, and glowing sapphire ignited through the darkness, the weapon’s steady hum louder in the complete silence of the dojo. 

Master Windu and he had yet to form a training bond. His mind still felt torn and aching from the abrupt severance of his connection to Ullo. So he could only reach for the Force itself to bolster him, to infuse him with the dangerous finesse required to even attempt Vaapad. He was a vessel, he could pull the necessary skills from somewhere inside himself, channel the molten wrath into the unfamiliar, lightning-speed twists and parries, because a Jedi should be malleable, could be remade again and again, from an initiate to Qui-Gon Jinn’s Padawan to an outcast to Ullo Tirr’s Padawan to an orphan howling at the pain to Master Windu’s Padawan and he would always be evolving, Ataru to Vaapad to the unknown, the future a gaping maw stretched out before him, endless because there was no Death, only the Force—

He was moving as fast as his thoughts, fingers clenching his saber hilt like the fists now _squeezing_ his mind, and he would never let go, he would always be searching for the haze of Light in darkness, the precious blue light in total darkness—

And then someone flipped on the dojo’s lights, just as he was contorting into a somersault. He fell.


	4. Part IV

Part IV

Qui-Gon sprinted across the dojo and crouched beside the other man, who lay crumpled where he had dropped out of the air. The Master exhaled carefully when he saw no trace of scarlet on the polished marble floor. 

“Obi-Wan!” He laid his hand on a sweat-slick flank, sending out tendrils of the Force to probe for injury. Luckily, he sensed only shock, a little pain, and a great deal of embarrassment. “What in stars’ name was _that_?” The apprentice had been performing a frenetic kata, slashing a manic, neon pattern of blue though the darkness, mirroring his equally fevered presence in the Force. That was how rambunctious initiates messed around, free styling because they didn’t know better. 

But a training saber was not a deadly weapon. And the raw, seething emotions fueling the kata were anything but child’s play. For an apprentice of Obi-Wan’s age to engage in such risky behavior was grounds for censure. Qui-Gon paused to briefly acknowledge what the Council would think: the nonconformist of the Order, scandalized by an apprentice breaking traditional kata form. Indeed, his heart remained wedged in his esophagus. 

Obi-Wan propped himself up on his elbows, chest heaving. His wet hair clung to his temple, and the Padawan’s braid wrapped across the front of his neck. 

On instinct, Qui-Gon reached out, and pulled the thin plaits of ginger hair free, placing the braid behind Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His fingers lingered on the first bead, woven just an inch below the right ear. He pulled back. “Obi-Wan,” he repeated, more evenly this time, “What were you doing?”

“...Practicing,” Obi-Wan panted. His face was flushed with more than exertion. 

Qui-Gon snorted. “Practicing how to kill yourself,maybe. I doubt Master Drallig would appreciate having to sweep you up before the initiates’ sparring session in the morning. Can you stand?” He offered his arm.

Obi-Wan nodded and took the assistance, finding his footing with a small hiss of discomfort. He wiped his hands on his sleep pants and bowed. “I’m sorry, Master Jinn. I didn’t think it would disturb anyone.” His gaze faltered. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I thought it was best to do something more productive than stare at the ceiling.”

Qui-Gon picked up Obi-Wan’s lightsaber and returned it to its chagrined owner. “Insomnia is not a rare affliction. Unfortunately, I know this firsthand.” It was his sleeplessness that led him down the quiet hallways, taking comfort in the fountains and statues as familiar as his first memories, until the Force’s warning whispered through this veins, and he ran to the south dojo, not knowing what he would find there. “But next time, I would suggest warm milk, versus...this kind of _practice_ , Padawan.” The word slipped so easily from his tongue, a reflex. But it was not unusual for Masters to refer to any apprentice by the term. It meant nothing. He crossed his arms. “I’ll ask again. What is it that you were doing? Or, what did you _think_ you were doing?”

Shame colored Obi-Wan’s cheeks again. “Vaapad,” He said, in a low voice. 

It was not the answer Qui-Gon expected. Incredulous laughter bubbled in his chest. “ _Vaapad_?” The spectacle he saw upon entering the dojo bore no resemblance to the lethal grace of that rare fighting form. “Have you ever ‘practiced’ Vaapad before?”

Obi-Wan’s response was guarded. “I didn’t need to...before.”

The shadow of pain passed between them, obvious despite the younger Jedi’s shields, speaking of loss and open wounds. Qui-Gon reminded himself that grief could cloud the mind, as could exhaustion; he noted subtle, grey crescents beneath Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Master Windu will not require you to adopt his style. That is a choice every Jedi makes for themselves.”

“I understand that, Master.”

An honorific all students used to address senior Jedi, signifying nothing but blanket respect. But it struck a quivering cord inside Qui-Gon, in a place he strove for stillness. “Then why would you risk your life to attempt a form your own Master took years to perfect? Does he know about this?”

Obi-Wan’s chin lifted. “It was meant as a...gift.”

Qui-Gon shook his head, walking over to the discarded clothing and boots. He bundled them and grabbed a towel. “Master Windu and I haven’t always seen eye to eye on certain subjects, but I’m confident he would view a live and whole Padawan as a satisfactory enough gift.”

The dripping young man accepted the towel with a murmured thanks, dabbing at his forehead and neck before vigorously rubbing his head dry. Livid bruises were already purpling his side. “He’ll have to settle for a slightly damaged one.”

Qui-Gon smiled. He was glad to know the burgeoning wit his one-time student displayed in his early years had not faded with maturity. Well, occasional maturity anyway. “I should comm Mace so he knows what you’re getting up to.”

Alarm tensed the muscles in Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “Will you?” 

He should. It was a courtesy expected between fellow Masters. But he felt the worry the tired Padawan carried, and knew he could not add to his burdens. Qui-Gon gave over the shirt and boots. “No. It would be cruel to interrupt the sleep of those blessed enough to find it.”

Obi-Wan’s shoulders relaxed. “Thank you, Master Jinn.” His hair stood up in random spikes from the towel. 

Qui-Gon gently pushed him in the direction of the fresher. “No need to thank me, young one. But you are in need of a shower.”

With a sheepish half-smile, Obi-Wan bowed and started in the director of the community sonics. 

Qui-Gon watched his departing figure, the mussed crop of hair and narrow frame reminding him of those scant months when Obi-Wan had been his student, a child of such promise. Yoda’s rebuke echoed through his mind.

_Had this opportunity, you did. Squandered, it was._

As Obi-Wan disappeared through the wide doors, the Force tugged at him, insistent. He stood in the center of the dojo and sighed. Was the ancient Master right, and he was confusing his own errant emotion for the Force’s call? He had made peace with Mace continuing Obi-Wan’s training. Yet he still found himself drawn into the Padawan’s life, regardless that he would never again be the guiding light in that life. And his heart ached for his lost chances, but more for the struggle he sensed in Obi-Wan. The apprentice was unbalanced, his aura murky and confused. 

He looked up at the doors. _Do you serve the Force, or Master Yoda?_ Perhaps the voice originated from his heart. He did not pause long enough to find out. 

——-

He was waiting in the hall outside the freshers. Obi-Wan emerged looking scrubbed but just as fatigued. He seemed only marginally surprised to see Qui-Gon. 

That was the problem, Qui-Gon thought. The young man was only marginally affected by anything, as of late. He remembered a spirited soul and bright eyes, not this listless, reckless version of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He thought of Ullo Tirr, and suppressed a wave of sorrow. No doubt the slain Master, so devoted and protective, would be devastated to see how his student was faring without him. 

“Master Jinn, have I forgotten something?”

_A great many things, Padawan._ But he merely shrugged out of his cloak, and draped it over Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Are you hungry?” He asked. 

Obi-Wan’s lip quirked. “Not recently.”

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said, bolstered by a sudden idea. “Then I have just the place.”

The younger man let himself be led towards the Temple’s main doors. He glanced down at his sleep clothes, distressed. “Master, I’m not dressed for—-“

Qui-Gon held up a hand. “Believe me, it won’t matter in the least.”

Obi-Wan looked doubtful, but wrapped the robe around his rumpled pajamas and followed Qui-Gon onto the midnight streets of Galactic City. 

————

At this hour, Dex’s Diner was teeming with customers, mostly famished spillovers from the closing taverns. Droid waitresses spun around the tables at an impressive clip, dropping off steaming plates and shooing away loiterers. 

The Jedi has barely crossed the threshold when the huge Besalisk spotted them from the pickup window. His pleased bark of laughter rose above the clattering cacophony, and he ambled over to them, pulling at his sagging, grease-stained pants with two huge grey arms. Another set of arms enclosed them both in a painfully tight embrace, shaking them as they were lifted off the floor. 

Then the cook stepped back to study his latest patrons. A sharp grin spread across Dex’s face, an expression that would look rather wicked if not for the glimmer of warmth kindled in the small, heavy-lidded eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day! Qui-Gon Jinn and the runt!” He boomed. “Get a seat, my friends. I’ll fix you both up with the _special_ special.” A thick finger poked Obi-Wan’s ribs. “And an extra helping for you, kid. How’sa Jedi gonna get a job done if he’s all skin n’ bones?!”

If Obi-Wan was annoyed or pained by the prodding of his bruised side, he concealed it beneath a genial smile. “Hello, Dex. It’s very nice to see you again.”

Dex rumbled with good-natured laughter. “This one’s always had high class manners. Don’t know how he ended up with you, Qui-Gon. Now I hope ya both brought your appetites! ” He clapped the older Jedi’s shoulder and waddled back to the kitchen. 

They slid into opposite sides of the nearest booth. A waitress immediately swerved over to bring them cups of water. 

Qui-Gon thanked her, and declined the offer of juices or stronger drinks. 

Obi-Wan downed his water in a few eager swallows.

Qui-Gon raised his hand, gesturing for a refill. 

The attentive server bot poured another two glasses. “Ya sure I can’t get you two somethin’ a little more flavorful? Dex said it was all on the house, ya know.”

“That is generous of him, but my friend here gets into enough trouble without the additional aid of libations.” Qui-Gon said, cocking an eyebrow at the Padawan. 

“Suit yourself, ” the waitress shrugged dismissively, and bopped to the next table. 

Obi-Wan emptied his second glass and set it on a napkin. His conduct was in humorous contrast with the raucous atmosphere of the diner. He tugged Qui-Gon’s cloak tighter, as if to conceal the loose neck of his sleep shirt. 

Qui-Gon slid another full cup across the table. “You look fine, Obi-Wan. Dex doesn’t exactly demand a dress code.” He smiled. “And you do have excellent manners, even for a Jedi.”

He was rewarded with a small smile. Obi-Wan scanned the crowd. “I haven’t been here for…”

“A long time,” Qui-Gon finished for him. “Dex asks after you every time I visit. He was quite fond of you.”

Beneath the artificial yellow lights, the shadows were more prominent around Obi-Wan’s eyes. His skin looked more sallow, too. Qui-Gon did not conceal the concern in his voice. “Are you sleeping at all?”

The young man was impeccably polite, but also didn’t seem keen to provide Qui-Gon with an honest answer. “I’m getting by, Master Jinn.”

“When you’re not trying to break your own neck?” Qui-Gon countered. 

This stirred a bit of the natural obstinance in the apprentice. He straightened in the booth and pulled up the billowing sleeves of Qui-Gon’s cloak. “I was only practicing Vaapad as a tribute to Master Windu.”

“You were attempting dangerous techniques for the first time without proper supervision, while sleep deprived and undernourished. And I don’t mean to insult your skills, but what I saw was not Vaapad.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes dropped. Qui-Gon touched the apprentice’s hand to draw his gaze up again, and softened his tone. “If you are adrift, Obi-Wan, it is understandable. You have suffered a terrible loss. But you need to tell your Master. You cannot sustain this.”

The younger Jedi rubbed his eyes, glancing out the window into the dark city beyond. Conflict played out on his face, roiled in the Force. “I—-“

Just then Dexter returned, bearing two enormous platters, piled with various greasy and sugary selections. He took in the Jedi’s overwhelmed expressions with a hearty guffaw. “Ya won’t have to eat again for a week after this! I got the best of my best here for ya.”

The plates were plopped down in front of both Jedi, then the mammoth Besalik squeezed into the booth beside Obi-Wan. Already compact compared to Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan was completely dwarfed by Dex, looking even more like an initiate due to the oversized robe. 

Qui-Gon suppressed the bittersweet bloom of nostalgia. He recognized most of the food, and was privately thankful that he was not usually predisposed to heartburn. “This all looks delectable, Dex. You’ve outdone yourself.” He speared a fried meat curl and took a substantial bite. “Delicious,” He declared. 

Dex pivoted in the cramped booth and peered into Obi-Wan’s face. “You’re lookin a little pale, kid. A big meal’ll do ya a world of good.”

Qui-Gon continued to work on his own calorie-laden feast, but he watched Obi-Wan, wondering if breeding would win out over the Padawan’s malaise. Jedi were taught from a young age to respect offers of local cuisine. And Dex was a trusted friend, besides. 

When the cook did not relent, Obi-Wan finally surrendered and took up his fork. He looked at Qui-Gon, and the Master nodded encouragingly. 

Dex gripped Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “That’s it! Eat like this more often and you’ll be doing just fine. You might even grow into that big ol robe one day.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Dex, Obi-Wan is twenty. He’s unlikely to do much more growing.”

The jovial Besalik grunted. “Ah, I always forget how puny most humans are. I did meet an itty bitty Lannik Jedi years ago, on Falleen, came bout to my knee, so I suppose it takes all kinds.”

“It certainly does,” Qui-Gon agreed, monitoring Obi-Wan’s progress with cautious satisfaction. If even a tenth of the overflowing plate was cleared, he would consider it a victory. 

Dex produced a discolored rag from his apron and wiped it across his ample, sweaty brow. “This is damn hard work,” he explained, “I’m glad you two showed up. Gives me a reason to take a little break. But you Jedi do the hardest work of all, and don’t even get paid for yer trouble! That’s why your credits’ll never be good here. Guess it’s my way of givin back to the good old Republic.”

Qui-Gon took a long drink of water to calm his overtaxed stomach. “You are too kind, my friend.” And he meant it—the cook’s generosity was already carving a flaming path through his chest, and there was still dessert to contend with. 

Dex appeared oblivious to the mounting indigestion, instead darting his eyes between the two Jedi with a pleased, toothy smile. “I tell ya, it does my heart good to see you guys. Reminds me of when I was a bit younger….and a bit skinnier!”

Obi-Wan laid a hand on the Besalik’s shoulder. “From my perspective, you haven’t aged a day, Dex.”

This comment sent their host into thundering laughter. “See, Qui-Gon? I told ya, a real gentleman this one. This calls for a touch of celebration!”

——

Dex Jettster’s idea of celebration involved several rounds of spirits, each more potent than the last. Of course, as Jedi they could easily neutralize the effects of their copious refreshments, but Qui-Gon appreciated the pleasant haze over his thoughts as they headed back . 

Obi-Wan, meanwhile, was downright drunk. “I think I’m rather inebriated,” the young man observed, the words spilling out with less than his usual grace. “Or what Garen would call ‘shavit-faced’”.

Qui-Gon hid his smile behind a hand. “I think Garen’s assessment would be accurate in this case, Obi-Wan.” Obviously he would need to sober the apprentice up before they reached the Temple. In the meantime, he thought their indulgences had provided Obi-Wan much-needed respite from his brooding. “However, Master Windu prefers his Padawans to keep their faces clean of shavit, so to speak. He’d have my hide if he knew I encouraged your corruption tonight.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan shrugged, Qui-Gon’s cloak now hanging open without care for the sleep clothes exposed underneath, “He doesn’t have to know. Jus’ like he doesn’t have to know about my practice session earlier, right, Master Jinn?” The young Jedi punctuated his comment with an impressive belch. 

At this point, Qui-Gon could not contain his amusement. “Dex was so taken by your manners he must have kept them for himself. Watch it, stay up here.”

Obi-Wan had wandered off their path. Qui-Gon pulled him back onto the sidewalk. “Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea,” the Master conceded. He wasn’t looking forward to going a few rounds with Mace, figuratively or literally. 

“No, it was a great idea!” Obi-Wan said, hiccuping. They passed signs in blazing electric hues, and various life forms that seemed just as colorful. “I haven’t seen Dex since I was a kid, you know.”

The sloppily spoken words still stung, though their meaning had been innocent. “I know, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon answered quietly. 

They were a kilometer from home when Obi-Wan abruptly stopped, the carefree mirth draining from him in an instant. 

Too late, Qui-Gon realized his mistake. The air thickened, and the Force stilled in mournful observance. Here, on this stretch of sidewalk, Master Tirr had drawn his final, ragged breaths, overtaken by the team of assassins, riddled with blaster bolts and left to die. 

Obi-Wan sunk to his knees, reaching an unsteady hand towards the ferrocrete. 

Qui-Gon saw the faded red stains there, and hoped Obi-Wan didn’t. He touched a slumped shoulder. “I’m sorry, young one. I was thoughtless.”

“It’s alright, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan spread his palm over the ghost of blood, reverently, miserably. “I should have come here sooner. I stayed away because...because I know I could have saved him, if…”

Qui-Gon rubbed both shoulders, shaking his head. “There are no _ifs_ , Obi-Wan. Only what the Force wills. It was not your fault you were assigned a solo mission. And if you were beside him at that moment, you could have been killed too.” An unbearable thought. 

A group of Twi’lek teenagers, pierced and tattooed and reeking of death sticks, stepped over the Jedi’s scene, muttering annoyed curses. 

“We should go,” Qui-Gon urged softly. “It’s late. You need to rest.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him, tears sliding down his cheeks. “I need my Master.”

The plaintitive despair brought moisture to Qui-Gon’s eyes, though if anyone had asked, he would have blamed it on the city’s smog. For the second time that night, he hunkered down next to Obi-Wan. “I wish I could ease your pain. I fear only time can do that, but you must remember that you carry his lessons with you. And you will impart those lessons to your own students one day. In that way, he is immortal.”

Obi-Wan let more tears fall, unimpeded. The numbing effects of the liquor had already been burned away by morbid reality. Even in his pajamas and big cloak, he suddenly looked older and disillusioned. “Do you know what my mission was? The one that prevented me from being at his side?” His jaw clenched, “I was overseeing the signing of a single document. I was only gone a day. I can’t even remember what the damn thing was for.” He cast his eyes around the indifferent urban street. “It seems like a lonely place to die.”

“He was not lonely, Obi-Wan. The Force was with him.” 

Obi-Wan sighed, staring at the haunting patch of sidewalk. “That’s what everyone says.”

“Because it's true.” Qui-Gon said with simple conviction. “We are all alone at the moment of death. But the Force is there to meet us, and take us into the Light. Your Master followed the Light. It was there for him, I know it was.”

Obi-Wan dropped his head into his hands. His overtaxed body heaved. 

Qui-Gon maintained his steady grip on the Padawan’s shoulders. His compassion flowed through the Force. He leaned in, close enough for his lips to graze the hair around Obi-Wan’s ear, and whispered, “Ullo Tirr loved you, Obi-Wan. I saw it for myself. You are his legacy, and he knew that. He was not alone, because he held you in his heart.”

And then there was nothing to do but offer his support, and shield the heartbroken young Jedi from the passionless night.


	5. Part V

Part V

_Cerasi was dead._

_He had seen her fall, the terrible flare of shock in her green eyes, as the fatal shot pierced her chest. Everyone had screamed. So did he, from the bottom of his battered and disbelieving soul. And now, days later, a feral cry still waited there, longing to be freed._

_Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a Jedi anymore. He relinquished his saber and title to Qui-Gon Jinn, so he could remain on this cursed planet and help the Young in their quest to end an endless war. He knew it was the right thing to do, as he had been taught since birth that helping the unfortunate was his Force-given destiny. He could not blame Qui-Gon for leaving, for leaving him. Retrieving Master Tahl had been their primary mission on Melida/Daan, and she certainly required medical attention the Young could not provide her._

_Whenever he tried to sleep, he saw Tahl’s blinded green-gold eyes, Cerasi’s unblinking death gaze...Qui-Gon’s eyes, always soft blue and kind, hardened by his student’s betrayal. He had raised his weapon against the only person who gave him a chance. The shame still burned in his gut, so that he could not eat, though there was little sustenance to be found anyway. It was only now that he understood he was really just a child, and the centuries-old problem facing the Young was too much for him to handle on his own._

_Which was an unfortunate realization, since he had just been elected their leader. He sat on a thin, lumpy sleep mat in the Young’s ramshackle headquarters. All around him, the jaded and heartbroken children slept, sprawled on the floor, or curled into tight, fetal balls. Their despair at Cerasi’s death, at the prospect of this battle stretching out into grim infinity, hung in the atmosphere like a sick smoke. But in their sadness, a seed of hope, planted by one Padawan—Ex-Padawan—an offworlder who finally saw their pain and would not look away from it. The Young thought he would make things happen, ensure that the loss of Cerasi would not be in vain._

_Except he didn’t know how to accomplish any of these things. Cerasi and Nield and the rest of the Young were born into grit, without the blessing of childhood innocence. The backdrop of their entire lives was blood, strife, war. It made him feel incredibly sheltered, like a fool. He was a fool, for insulting his Master so deeply, and driving away the only real help for his new friends. Qui-Gon had been his friend, too, though in a different way than Bant or Garen or Reeft._

_Just thinking of those names was worse than a vibroblade between his ribs. He imagined the Temple, clean and warm and balanced. Safety. Home. Once, he slid badly during a scrimmage and Bruck Chun kicked him right in the teeth, and blood flew across the salles. At least three concerned Masters came running to his side._

_But here...here children were shot in cold blood, and it STILL wasn’t enough to stop the fighting. Fighting everywhere, between the Melida and Daan, between the Young, memories of that fateful argument between himself and Qui-Gon….it all clashed in his head, and there was no peace, no home for him at all._

———-

They made it home just as shopkeepers and other laborers materialized, walking heavily in the grey mist of predawn, tying on aprons and taking the last drags of cigarettes. 

Master Jinn had waited with Obi-Wan as the paroxysm of grief overtook him, refusing the younger Jedi’s insistence that he would be fine on his own. 

_“It’s one thing to steal Master Windu’s apprentice in the middle of the night. It would be quite another to not ensure his return.”_

Obi-Wan had finally gathered his wits enough to stand, and a few minutes after that he was able to resume their journey. He walked away from the place his Master joined the Force. He knew Ullo was not _truly_ there, just as he had not been on that pyre. Master Jinn was right about that. 

He pulled the borrowed robe closer, against a brief, cool wind and smiled, just a little, to himself. Ullo would not be too enthused about Obi-Wan admitting Qui-Gon Jinn’s accuracy in...well, just about anything. But he didn’t think his dear mentor would mind in this case. For whatever reason, Master Jinn had made himself available in the darkest moments of this trial. He didn’t understand, but he was still appreciative. 

And he was almost...regretful, when they entered the still-quiet Temple and approached the lifts. Here is where the strange night would end, their paths would diverge once more: Qui-Gon to the residence halls, Obi-Wan to his bare room on one of the lower levels. The silvery door opened and they stepped inside, Qui-Gon pressing the button for both floors.

Obi-Wan looked down at his boots. The meal at Dex’s had filled him with a pleasant, if greasy, sense of satiation. He couldn’t remember being _hungry_ , not since Ullo’s death, but as soon as he took that first bite of coated, fried whatever, a gnawing need rose up inside him, and his body demanded more, and he had to resist the urge to shovel the food into his mouth like a famished youngling. He glanced over at Qui-Gon in the cramped elevator car and felt a subtle, encouraging touch in the Force. “I’m sorry, Master Jinn. I know it was...well, misguided to attempt Vaapad alone, without the necessary training. I understand if you need to inform Master Windu of what transpired.”

The lift descended swiftly to the floor of temporary lodgings. As the door opened, revealing a dark and empty corridor, Obi-Wan met Qui-Gon’s gaze. Even with a full stomach and clearer head, he could not interpret the way the tall man was studying him. He sensed sadness, but it had to be his own, a projection onto the Master’s serene, unflappable presence. He was so transfixed the door started to close, and he had to lurch forward to stop it with his hand. He flushed and palmed the console, to hold the door open.

Then he realized he still wore Master Jinn’s cloak, and slid out of the spacious garment, handing it back to its owner with a quick bow. “Thank you, Master Jinn, for the robe, and dinner, and…” there was suddenly too much to say, and no way to say it, “Thank you.”

The tall man bowed in return. “Thank you for the company, young one.” He reached across the narrow space to clasp Obi-Wan’s arm. “Know that if you ever need someone to talk to, or if he you find yourself craving a pile of Dex’s griddle cakes up to your chin,” he laughed, “I am here.”

Obi-Wan dipped his head in gratitude, and to avoid the inexplicable discomfort he felt at their parting. “Your words honor me, Master Jinn. Good night.”

Qui-Gon stood beneath the lift’s light, arms crossed. “Good morning,” he corrected with a smile. 

Obi-Wan tried to mirror his expression, but could not muster it over the melancholic swell in his chest. So he said “Good morning, Master Jinn,” and turned, starting the solitary walk to his anonymous quarters. Undoubtedly Master Windu would contact him soon, to relay instructions for the new day. A wave of exhaustion swept through him. Blast it, he was tired. 

“Obi-Wan!”

——-

_“Obi-Wan!”_

_The fury in the voice was palpable. He wheeled around the wasteland and saw Nield stalking toward him. The older boy’s face was ashen, his brown hair falling over his narrowed eyes._

_Though Nield was not Force-sensitive, that unifying energy still vibrated and sparked with his unbridled rage. He stopped only when he was toe to toe with Obi-Wan and glared down at the former Jedi._

_“It’s YOUR fault, Kenobi,” Nield growled, jabbing him in the chest. “You came here and acted like you were our kriffing savior or something. But you couldn’t save_ her _, could you?”_

_Obi-Wan flinched at the mention of Cerasi. His instincts told him to back away, to de-escalate. His heart rattled down in his stomach. “No,” he answered softly, and honestly. “No one saved her.”_

_Nield choked out a sound somewhere between a snarl and a snort. “It’s your fault.” He repeated through gnashing teeth, “You weren’t fast enough. She was ALL I HAD, do you get that?” His wet, dark eyes searched Obi-Wan’s face. “Is it possible for a Jedi FREAK to understand that?”_

_Still, Obi-Wan did not step back. “I am not a Jedi, Nield.”_

_“Really?” Nield grinned, “Well, I could’ve told you that. You tricked us just like you tricked the Jedi. Cuz you know what, Obi-Wan Kenobi? You’re really good at pretending to be something. You pretended to be a Jedi, and then you pretended to be our friend, and now, now I see what you really are.”_

_Obi-Wan wanted to turn away from the hateful face, from the painfully true words, but it didn’t matter if he ran from Nield now. His accusations were no worse than the litany of guilt that ran through Obi-Wan’s head, day and night. It was what he deserved. “What am I?” He asked._

_Fingers dug into his arms, jagged nails stabbing through his thin, dirty tunic. Nield dragged him closer, until their noses almost touched. “You’re NOTHING, Kenobi.” The whisper was sharper than nails, because it came from a friend, came from the darkest part of himself._

_Obi-Wan held Nield’s eyes, arms hanging passively at his sides. “I know.”_

_Nield shook his head, laughing bitterly. Forlorn, naked trees shuddered around them. “You don’t know anything. You’re a shavit-for-brains sleemo who’s never been in a_ real _fight in your whole life. So yeah, I know you’re not a Jedi. So did your big boss. No wonder he left you here. Bet he was itching for an excuse to jettison your worthless ass.” He shoved Obi-Wan onto the ground._

_Obi-Wan’s head struck a boulder. His vision exploded in fragments of light and shadow; he felt blood seeping into his hair. Nield stood above him, feet firmly framing Obi-Wan’s shoulders._

_He was not a Jedi, but he called on his lessons, the words of his teachers, and Qui-Gon Jinn. He had seen evil before, in Xanatos’ icy stare, but this was different, more complicated. And Nield was not evil, just confused and overwhelmed. He struggled to his elbows, Melida/Daan spinning around him as if he were trapped in a demented fishbowl. Sour water flooded his mouth. He had only the very basic medical training given every Padawan before embarking on missions, but it was enough to know that he was most likely concussed. He had to diffuse the situation before things got worse—-_

_And then Nield was holding...something….in his fist—_

_A shiv. It looked handmade, and wickedly lethal._

__Master, Master help me __

_Obi-Wan remained still as Nield crouched over him, and the crudely formed metal pressed against his neck. It was cold, and real, and nothing like the training sabers at the Temple._

_Nield swiped his forearm across his face. Sweat glistened and mingled with the grime smudged on his chin. He pushed Obi-Wan onto his back, and Obi-Wan saw the grey, cloudless sky above, finding no mercy in the still heavens._

_The shiv was back at his throat. One of Nield’s knees pressed into his stomach. His head pounded. He tried to find the boy he had befriended only a handful of days ago, back when the future held promise, but saw only the mask of rage and bone-deep despair._

_Obi-Wan swallowed a shaking breath. “Nield….” he began, closing his eyes in awful expectation when the blade nicked his flesh. “Nield..”_

_“SHUT UP!” The larger boy bellowed, hair and spit flying in an upsurge of wind. “I hate you!”_

_Obi-Wan willed his body to remain limp, a non-threat. “I don’t hate you, Nield.”_

__A Jedi does not know hate __

_It was true. His heart was empty of anything save pity and regret, for this lost and hurting soul, for his own silly and irreversible mistakes. No, Nield was not a Jedi either, but he let his shields down anyway, so maybe the former Young leader would see—_

_“If you’d been faster, y’know, like a_ real _Jedi, she would still be alive.” Nield’s voice broke._

_Obi-Wan ignored the thin stream of blood trailing down his neck. “I know. I know I failed her, and you, and everybody. I miss her too.”_

_The dark eyes widened. “Miss her? You barely even knew her!” He shook Obi-Wan by the shoulders, jamming his head back into the hard stone._

_More stars exploded in Obi-Wan’s periphery. Almost senseless now, he risked placing his hand over Nield’s, where it wrapped around the shiv. “I know that she loved you.”_

_Nield paused, emotion trembling in the corners of his eyes. “She was the only thing I had in this farking ugly world. My mother and father, my brothers...everyone I’ve ever loved was killed by this stupid war. Cerasi and I were going to make everything better, and then YOU showed up, and it’s all gone to shavit now. It can never be like it was going to be, because she’s gone. And then you think you can just take over my own damn people.”_

_Obi-Wan held the fist and blade back, looking at Nield with desperate compassion. “It will never be as it could have been,” he agreed, speaking of Cerasi and so many other things, “but you have to ask yourself, Nield. Do you really hate me enough to do something she would abhor? She was railing against violence—“_

_“YOU DIDN’T KNOW HER! YOU WERE NOTHING TO HER!” Nield screamed, keening with the anguish of an orphan thrice-over, the bomb placed inside him by generations of battle finally detonating, and Nield’s other hand clamped over Obi-Wan’s, and three hands gripped the blade as it angled downward._

_“Master!” The cry broke from Obi-Wan just as the shiv entered his side. He felt for the wound, and hot liquid gushed over his fingers._

_Nield leaned back on his knees, watching the writhing boy beneath him. “That was for me,” He rasped through tears. “And this is for Cerasi.”_

_The shiv cut across his neck. It was like the unleashing of a floodgate, the release of war and hatred and abandonment._

_Nield shot to his feet, a look of pure, adolescent horror replacing fury, and he dropped the shiv and disappeared into the skeletal forest._

_Obi-Wan tried to move, but he could not find purchase, his hands grasping futilely at loose gravel and dirt. He waited for the pain to assault his senses, but instead felt numbing warmth spread out from his injured side. The Force was warm, too, suffusing his reeling mind with peace. He was not his body. The shiv had not punctured his spirit where it lived in the Force._

_He glanced at the dirt and saw red, like the red covering his fingers._

_Panic skittered along the edges of his nerves. He was breathing too fast. He needed to-what was the word?-conserve. Instinctively he grappled for Qui-Gon’s presence, that steadiness and strength the man could channel to him through their bond, but the connection was silent, frayed._

_Cut._

_Cut like his throat, and he placed his hand over the burning line Nield slashed through his skin. He was not his body. This was not happening to him. He was going to be a Jedi Knight, Qui-Gon would feel his pain even without their link, because this whole thing was just a dumb mistake and how could one mistake destroy everything when the Force had brought them together even after Bandomeer and Xanatos and Phindar? He just had to focus, go deeper into the Force than he ever had…_

_The bleak sky seemed higher than before, or he was smaller, or sinking into the ground. He listened for footsteps, from one of the Young or Nield realizing what he’d done or just an adult, any adult who would know how to help him, keep him safe so he could just go to sleep, because the Force was so warm now.._

_No no no. He couldn’t sleep because he hit his head, many times. Reeft bonked himself something terrible on a trip to the Galactic City...museum? It was a museum...or an aquarium...there were fish…but maybe he was just thinking of Bant because she was there too and sort of looked like a fish and everyone leaned over Reeft who was spread out on the floor and their chaperone said silly Reeft now you can’t sleep until the healers get a look at you and he was just happy it wasn’t HIM that had to go to the healers because it smelled like bandages and what was it called soap no it was disinfectant that they poured on the hospital floor to make it clean and sterile yes he knew that word, sterile_

_he just needed disinfectant now, some in his side and more on his neck, seeing as it was filthy everywhere here and no doubt his open wounds were getting infected but he wouldn’t complain, he would even THANK the healers if only they would clean out the dirt and blood and Qui-Gon would be there too, a tall shadow off to the side, making sure he was okay_

_—he knew he had to scream, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was an awful, liquid gurgling that tasted like metal, the blade was metal—_

_and the Force was warm, and wrapped around him, like the blankets in the infirmary, and he didn’t have to reach out for his Master because he was already here, and laying his broad, rough hand on Obi-Wan’s forehead. So now he knew he could sleep, his mind could separate from the grisly state of his body, and then Melida/Daan and its callous sky would be far far away and he was going to be a Jedi Knight, he was…_

——-

“Obi-Wan!”

The deep voice called to him again. He stopped, smoothing down his sleep shirt and carding fingers through his hair. He had not anticipated Master Windu summoning him _this_ early, or at all. He would have made himself more presentable. 

But when he turned around, it was Master Jinn again, halfway down the corridor, walking towards him.

He was too tired to conceal his puzzlement. “Master Jinn? Is something wrong?”

Qui-Gon closed the space between them. “No, I’m sorry, nothing is wrong. I’ve just remembered I have something of yours that I’ve been meaning to give back to you.”

Obi-Wan frowned, sluggish mind searching for possibilities. “Something of mine? I don’t understand.” A Jedi had very few possessions to speak of, and back when he was the man’s apprentice, he didn’t really have any possessions at all. “My Master will be contacting me before long, and I haven’t—“

Qui-Gon held up both hands. “I promise it will take only a moment. If Mace is perturbed, he can take it up with me.”

—-


	6. Part VI

Part VI

Qui-Gon Jinn was not accustomed to entertaining visitors in his private quarters. Save for Tahl, he rarely had reason to use a second teacup. 

And he had not used this particular teacup for many years. It was part of a set given to him given to him, to _them_ , by the Phindar people. It was not encouraged to accept even small tokens from those the Jedi served and protected. Qui-Gon was loathe to say such gifts were outright forbidden, because some items had practical purposes outside of ornamental or sentimental value. The tea set, for example, was exceedingly plain in appearance, but the pieces were lightweight and well-shaped, and kept his favorite brews warm a bit longer than usual. 

He poured the steaming, fragrant liquid into two cups, and to the horror of good hosts everywhere, ensured his guest received the chipped teacup.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan intoned, holding the cup like a fragile eggshell in both hands. 

Qui-Gon sat beside him on the couch, waving at the light controls. The room was bathed in subtle amber, window shades closed against the fledgling day.

Obi-Wan shifted his focus from the dark depths of the cup to Qui-Gon. The young Jedi had endured a night of frenzy and adrenaline, heartbreak, and enough food to satisfy a half-starved bantha, and now he was beginning to show signs of wear, as if the ravenous creature had trampled Obi-Wan in its quest for supper. Qui-Gon felt a pang of guilt. “Forgive me. You are in obvious need of rest. This could wait for another time, when things are more settled.”

“I’m alright,” Obi-Wan said. He traced the imperfect ceramic rim idly with his finger. “I’ve read that some Jedi can train themselves to eschew sleep entirely.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Those individuals are undoubtedly few and far between. And miserable, if they even exist outside folklore.”

A groove of irritation appeared between the Padawan’s brows. “The accounts are rare, I admit that, but they _do_ exist.”

The insistent tone amused Qui-Gon almost as much as it concerned him. He leaned forward. “Obi-Wan, this is not something you are….actually pursuing, is it? Because I harbor serious doubts that a human could—“

“Several humans, in fact, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan corrected, his cultured, core world accent at its strongest. He took a sip of tea. 

This was an aspect of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s character that Qui-Gon had nearly forgotten in the span of years since the dissolution of their partnership. As a boy, Obi-Wan had been headstrong and prone to haughtiness, especially when he thought he was right. It seemed even Ullo Tirr had not been able to redirect those tendencies completely. “When you were thirteen years old, you read an ancient text in the Archives and decided to build a double bladed lightsaber the next day.”

“Those existed too, you know.”

Qui-Gon smirked. “I know. My own Master told me the tales, long ago. Such a weapon seems about as useful as a permanent sleep boycott, though probably not as dangerous.”

“When I was thirteen years old, you were a terrible housekeeper, Master Jinn. I suppose some personality flaws only worsen with time.” Obi-Wan hid his pleased smile behind the teacup. 

“I suppose they do.” Qui-Gon conceded. 

“And I can’t sleep anyway, so this is a prudent solution.”

A lilt, a dip. Qui-Gon touched his shoulder. “You know it is no solution at all, Obi-Wan. Prolonged lack of sleep can impair your ability to make decisions. Which _would_ explain a seasoned Jedi apprentice recklessly attempting a complex lightsaber form for the first time, unsupervised, in the dead of night.”

The jab invigorated Obi-Wan, a natural debater and negotiator. “I was not _trying_ to be reckless, Master Jinn.”

Qui-Gon studied the Padawan’s countenance, budding features of the child he remembered now refined and smoothed out by adulthood. But the blue eyes were still expressive, kindling Light, the same eyes that had searched him out years before, gazed up at him with hope and an almost painful eagerness to learn, to be taught. His heart squeezed in his chest. _This was not a good idea. For either of us._ “You’ve never _had_ to try, Obi-Wan.” 

The words hit harder than he intended. He watched Obi-Wan withdraw slightly into the corner of the couch, his understated version of recoil. 

_Damn it. Damn ME._ Qui-Gon reached for levity, and found it by looking no further than Obi-Wan’s hands. “You do remember how that cup was so wrongly injured, don’t you?”

A slight ease in defense that slackened taut shoulders. It was enough. Obi-Wan touched the jagged edge, smiling faintly. “Yes.” He answered softly. “You were in a meeting with the Council. I can’t recall exactly what you had done, only that I could feel your… _dissatisfaction_. I thought it might help soften the after effects of whatever censures were rained upon you if you had your favorite tea waiting for you when you returned.”

Qui-Gon breathed through the sudden ache. The Force still rained censure upon him, for what he had done in a moment of shock and fear and self-righteous anger. It compelled him to reopen half-mended wounds, to rediscover, again and again, what he willfully lost. For in Obi-Wan’s brief explanation of his motives all those years ago, he already revealed he was _nothing_ like Xanatos, nothing. And Qui-Gon knew, had always known, that he had cast suspicion and blame on sweetness and purity, simply because he had previously tasted the bitterness of betrayal, and choked. And when the Council discovered he was meddling in Obi-Wan’s life again, no one would have a well-meaning scene of tea and broken drinkware waiting for him to soothe his chastisement.

Obi-Wan’s gaze was unfastened, still burrowing into memory. “The problem was I had never made proper tea before, especially not the rare leaves you used. So I had to start over a few times, and I can remember sensing your approach, before the kettle was ready, and I fumbled for the cups. They clattered together as you entered the room and that’s when this one was...injured, as you say.”

Qui-Gon did not look away when Obi-Wan lifted his eyes. He let himself see, and feel, and regret. He deserved the pain, though he appreciated the solace of his former student’s happy reminiscing. He cleared his throat, and trusted his voice was strong enough to speak. “I can’t recall what I had done either. Honestly, my affronts to the Council were difficult to catalog long before we met. I only know that I was in a sour mood when I entered and saw your interesting interpretation of my afternoon tea rituals. While the presentation left something to be desired, it was the flavor, or should I say _texture_ , of the drink that shall be emblazoned in my mind for as long as I live.”

Obi-Wan winced. “Ah. I had not partaken of any myself.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, swallowing a mouthful of strong, perfectly blended tea. “You were a smart boy.” His next words were quieter, “And a thoughtful one. I waited until you left for your next class before vigorously washing the sediment out of my mouth.”

The younger Jedi grimaced. “It was that bad?”

“It was worse, Obi-Wan.” He assured his companion fondly. “Although this was meant to be a story about your incurable recklessness, it seems to have evolved into one of kindness.”

Obi-Wan drained the cup. “Or it could be that while I am occasionally reckless, I am often well-meaning.”

“I think that is safe to say.” Qui-Gon patted his knee. The sun pressed against the blinds, brighter. The night was over. Surely Mace would seek out his new charge soon, and would not be enthused to discover Obi-Wan _here_ , of all places. The Master felt time slipping away from him; an unnamed urgency had his pulse drumming beneath his wrists. He shifted so that he was directly facing the other man. “But you are not a cup, Obi-Wan. I…” He stopped, waiting for the right words to emerge from the deafening ruckus in his head, “I can claim nothing of you, except a past that seems very far away. But you were my Padawan once, and I only want you to be fulfilled in your life, and whole in the Force.”

Obi-Wan frowned. Despite his obvious weariness, he sat up, locking bloodshot eyes with Qui-Gon. “With all due respect, Master Jinn, I don’t understand. Why now? Why would you concern yourself with me at _all_ , when I sullied and discarded my commitment to you? Before Master Ullo’s funeral, you had not spoken to me since that day on Melida/Daan.” He shook his head. “ My Master always misinterpreted what happened there. He saw it as your failing, when it was mine.” Shadows moved across the pallid face, across the Force itself, as darkest memories were unburied. “I was lucky to leave Melida/Daan with my life, let alone a Master willing to teach a traitorous supplicant. I never blamed you for wanting to keep your distance.”

Now Qui-Gon did not understand. Was Obi-Wan so exhausted that he could not fully recall the days after he returned to the Temple following the disaster on Melida/Daan, when he was presented with the choice between two Masters, old and new? He searched the blue eyes in front of him. “Keep my distance? That’s not what--” And in that moment, the answer came to him, an unfurled truth that blazed through his soul like a clarifying conflagration.

_He didn’t know. He never knew_. 

He realized Obi-Wan was watching him. Qui-Gon forced a weak smile and stood, collecting the empty teacups and cooling kettle. “Excuse me for a moment, young one.” He took numb steps into the kitchen and left their dishes in the sink. Then he kept walking, down the hallway and into his room. He sat heavily on the edge of his bunk. 

_I never blamed you for wanting to keep your distance._

His mind raced with the ramifications of the outrageous deception. His fingers curled around the edge of the mattress. He struggled to release his anger into the Force, but it came in ever-stronger waves. 

He had gone to Master Yoda and apologized for his hasty actions. He had knelt at the Master’s clawed feet, head bowed in utter regret and contrition. He had asked, no--- _begged_ , for a ship to retrieve the boy from that harrowing planet of war and ghosts, for a second opportunity to train Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

_“Expressed intent to complete Obi-Wan’s training, has another.”_

_“Who?”_

_“Not a Master, but a Knight. Ullo Tirr. Already returning to Coruscant, he is, with young Kenobi.”_

_“I made a mistake, Master. We both did. Our bond is still new. You know I have battled my demons with Xanatos--”_

_“A mistake, the boy made. Paid for it, he has. Only time will tell if learn from it, he did. But older you are, Qui-Gon. Wiser, you are meant to be. When lose their way, a Padawan does, provide a guiding light, the Master must. Not cast their troubled student aside.”_

_“I was hurt by his actions, and sorely needed to get Tahl medical attention. As soon as I had a moment to think, I acknowledged my own grievous errors. It would be a disservice to the partnership we forged to let it go now. I can’t, my Master. I won’t. That boy IS my Padawan.”_

_“Hmmm. A Padawan, the Council still deems him. But neither your Padawan, nor Knight Tirr’s will Obi-Wan be, until recovered, he is.”_

_“Recovered? What happened? Why has no one told me? If he’s hurt—“_

_“Qui-Gon! Many presumptions do you make. In good hands, he will be, with our healers.”_

_“...I need to see him, when he arrives. I need to tell him—“_

_“Need you speak of. Hmmmph. Your own need, Master Qui-Gon. But concern Obi-Wan’s needs, this does. Healing, he needs. Meditation and reflection, not to bear the weight of your guilty conscience. Wait, you will.”_

Qui-Gon had waited, day after day, in this same room. He knew once he talked to Obi-Wan, the rift could be mended, and they would move past that painful detour in their journey together. He rehearsed what he would say, how would he explain himself, and ask for the boy’s forgiveness. To fill the maddeningly quiet hours, he planned their next excursion, because he _knew_ Obi-Wan possessed a compassionate heart; he would forgive. They would go to the Jedi training center on Kamparas, and there he and Obi-Wan would formally recommit to each other as Master and apprentice. Soon enough, Melida/Daan would shrink ever further into the distance, as they hurtled into the beautiful and unknowable future, until it remained only as a testament to their resilience. 

Weeks passed, yet the imagined reunion never took place. He assumed the Council barred him from Obi-Wan, based on Yoda’s harsh judgement of Qui-Gon’s behavior on Melida/Daan. But standing at Tirr’s pyre, Yoda himself revealed that the decisions regarding Obi-Wan’s training had been left up to Obi-Wan himself. 

Except that was glaringly, infuriatingly, not the case. The bewildered young Jedi who sabeside him moments ago was still laboring under the impression that his former teacher had wanted to _keep his distance_. Meanwhile, Qui-Gon had eagerly anticipated a reconciliation that, it turns out, was impossible. 

_No one told him. He was allowed to think—-_

The despair and protective rage nearly swept him away. He wanted to storm into the Council chambers and demand the rest of the story. He could neither accuse nor condemn another Jedi until the final revelations were exposed. _Why_. 

More importantly— _who?_

Qui-Gon’s mind raced to supply possibile names, but he refused to add _suspicion_ to the myriad dark emotions threatening his center. He breathed in calmness, the Force. 

“Master Jinn?”

Obi-Wan appeared at the doorway, a pale and tentative figure. He looked mildly embarrassed to be standing at the threshold of a Jedi Master’s private chamber. “I don’t wish to intrude but...is everything alright?” 

Qui-Gon sighed. Of course Obi-Wan detected his rippling shock. He realized now that they didn’t need a traditional teaching bond to be attuned to the other’s mood. Tahl, always keenly perceptive, had seen it, noticed the way he was drawn into his ex-Padawan’s orbit, again and again. It was not a lingering sense of responsibility or some misplaced longing for old affection. 

It was destiny. Denied on Bandomeer, deferred by Melida/Daan and now it howled inside him, refusing to be silenced. His skin vibrated with the implications. “Everything is fine, Obi-Wan. It’s been a long night for me too.” He smiled, and motioned to the empty space next to him on the bed. 

Obi-Wan acquiesced, folding his hands in his lap. He glanced up at Qui-Gon. “Is that what you meant to give me? The cup?”

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up. “Ah, no, although it is yours if you so desire. It was not mine to hoard in the first place.”

Obi-Wan’s smile was small. “It is part of a set. It would be a pity, unnatural even, for one piece to be separated.”

Did the young Jedi mean to be so painfully astute in his observations? Because this one cut Qui-Gon to the quick. “A pity indeed. But my offering is more humble than a broken teacup.” He leaned forward and opened a drawer in his bedside table. There, in the far corner, beneath a blanket from Tahl, among a few other momentos, sat a burlap pouch, so small his long fingers easily engulfed it. He pressed the satchel into Obi-Wan’s palm. “I have wanted to return this to you for a long time.” He swallowed, with difficulty. “It should never have left your possession.”

Obi-Wan’s expression was a mosaic of puzzlement, intrigue and weariness. He released the tie and carefully slid the contents of the pouch into his hand. The black river stone gleamed in the muted morning light, an artifact of a bygone era. He blinked at Qui-Gon, astonished. “You...kept it?”

Qui-Gon folded his hand over Obi-Wan’s, so the stone was cradled in their shared grasp. It warmed to the touch, after years of cold neglect. “Of course I did, Obi-Wan.”

\-------

_He carried Tahl up the ship’s platform, disturbed by her emaciated body and ashen face. He could not even think of her ruined eyes, those beautiful, gold-green eyes, or the outrage would swell within him again. He had to be strong, for Tahl, and for his apprentice, who had struggled throughout this damnable assignment. More than anything, they needed to leave Melida/Daan. Immediately._

_Qui-Gon gently placed her on a narrow cot. The ship was almost primitively furnished and supplied. There would be no proper medical treatment until they reached Coruscant._

_Her eyes fluttered open, a useless instinct, now. She parted grey lips peeling from thirst. “Qui-Gon...please….”_

_His heart hammered. He hovered close, to catch her tortured whispers. “What is it?” Qui-Gon asked, stroking a damp temple. “What do you need?”_ Anything, anything. As long as it keeps you here. __

_She reached out to return the gesture, sweeping away errant strands of his hair with her fingertips. “Don’t leave Obi-Wan.”_

_He wasn’t sure if she was joking, or delirious from all she had endured. He covered her with a threadbare sheet. “He is on his way. We’ll be home soon.”_

_Tahl’s forehead creased. Her signature in the Force was clouded. “Promise me you won’t leave him.”_

_Confusion and stark fear jibbered along the edge of his control. “Only if_ you _promise not to leave him. Or me, my friend.”_ Dear friend. The dearest. _“I’m worried about you.”_

_“I’m not going anywhere.” She waved off his heartfelt confession. “I’ve come this far. I’ll make it the rest of the --” Abruptly, she grasped his tunic sleeve, blind eyes darting, “He’s almost here. Go, Qui-Gon.”_

_He kissed her cheek and rose. He nearly hit the bulkhead of the cramped beater ship. “I’ll be right back.” Qui-Gon said, and somehow tore himself away, striding down the ramp to take in the barren decay of Melida/Daan for the last time. There in the midst of the wasteland was a beacon of Light. Obi-Wan ran to him, the knees of his tunics saturated with grime, his filthy brown hair plastered to his face. “Master!’ The boy called breathlessly._

_Qui-Gon clasped Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Tahl is settled, as well as she can be. We must move quickly now, Padawan.” The body beneath his hands trembled. He frowned. “What is it?”_

_Obi-Wan took a step back, out of his grasp. “Master, we can’t just...leave. The people here need us.”_

_Qui-Gon gazed out at the desolate scene, gutted trees and fire-blasted earth. Then he looked at his apprentice, who in his unblemished innocence and open heart existed as a total contrast to the misery surrounding them. Obi-Wan was so young, too young to comprehend the complexities of war, or the limits of the Jedi themselves. “They need much more than we can offer them.” He rested a tender hand on the boy’s arm. “This is a lesson every Jedi learns. Perhaps the hardest lesson. We can’t save everyone, Obi-Wan.”_

_His apprentice’s eyes were hard, vibrant crystals in the listless grey mist. The very Force sparked with discord. “But shouldn’t we try, Master? These are children.”_

_“We have done what we can. The precepts of the Order forbid us from engaging in war.” He smoothed the tangled Learner’s braid. “We will discuss it further en route to Coruscant.”_

_But the apprentice was not so easily swayed. He stood with his legs apart, hands on his hips, an obstinate imitation of a much older Jedi, or perhaps shades of a man yet to be. “No, Master. We need to help the Young.”_

_Qui-Gon felt irritation splinter through his empathy. There wasn’t time for this. Tahl... “It is not your place to decide these things, Padawan. Now get onboard.”_

_“No,” Obi-Wan repeated, resolve like a thunderclap in the Force. “We have to stay. Consider what is at stake here, Master.”_

_“I am,” Qui-Gon said quietly, “The life of a fellow Jedi is at stake. Master Tahl is gravely wounded, Padawan. She needs the Temple healers. It…_ disappoints _me that you are so cavalier about her fate.” This wasn’t like his apprentice at all, in fact. Uneasiness crept up his spine. “As I already told you once, get on the ship, Obi-Wan.”_

_But the boy only pressed his boots more firmly into the dead soil. “I want Master Tahl to get help too, Master. I do not disregard her injuries.”_

_Qui-Gon snorted. “No, you just want us to abandon her.”_

_“No!” Obi-Wan cried in violent denial. “But why must_ we _take her to Coruscant, when we are needed here?”_

_Dread mounted inside Qui-Gon, a sense of dwindling time prickling his skin. “Our mandate here was to rescue Master Tahl and return her to Coruscant. That is what we are doing. Now, I will not tell you again—“_

_“How can you lecture me on_ mandates _, Master? You always do what the Force compels you to do, mandates and the Council be damned! But now you want to adhere to the Code, while these children suffer?”_

_In another situation, Qui-Gon might have admired his student’s streak of independence._ Might _being the operative word. “You are thirteen years old, Obi-Wan. I will not argue with you about this. As a Padawan, sometimes you must trust that your Master is making the right decision.”_

_Obi-Wan did not look away, despite the moisture gleaming in the corners of his eyes. “I do trust you, Master. I don’t mean to disrespect you—“_

_“But you are,” Qui-Gon told him, crossing his arms over his chest. “You are questioning my ability to make the correct choices on this mission. In doing so, you question my capabilities as a Jedi Master. That IS disrespect, and nothing I would expect from you, Obi-Wan. You are staring down a dangerous path.”_

_Twin rivers cleansed the boy’s dirt-streaked cheeks. “I am not like_ him _, Master.”_

_The unspoken name hung in the stagnant air. Xanatos._

_No, his compassionate and eager student radiated with the Light. Sometimes it was the soft illumination of a candle in darkness, but in this moment it burned too bright. And Qui-Gon remembered too well how brilliant potential in the Force could be warped and misshapen. For Xanatos, the threat came as temptation, for power, status, money._

_But Obi-Wan did not give a thought to such vices. He was good, just good. Qui-Gon wanted to wrap his own strength around his Padawan and insulate him from this place, keep him young and unbroken by the harsh realities of the galaxy. “I know you aren’t.” He said at last, suddenly weary beyond belief. He studied his equally exhausted apprentice, the tear-stained face and dirty tunics, and felt the anger bleed out of him all at once. Qui-Gon combed his fingers through Obi-Wan’s wilted hair. “You are you, and you cannot turn a blind eye to suffering.” The phrase reminded him of Tahl, and his gut twisted. “You are also well past your limits, young one. After all we’ve been through, it can be easy for me to forget you are still unseasoned. After you’ve eaten and rested, we can talk about your questions.”_

_He started to lead Obi-Wan towards the ship, but the boy wrenched out of his grasp. “You don’t understand, Qui-Gon. I cannot go with you.”_

_Qui-Gon glanced at the waiting vessel, envisioned Tahl inside, her wasted body. “Damn it, Obi-Wan, there isn’t time for this!” He grasped his student’s shoulders. “I order you to get onboard, and I will not hear another word of dissent.”_

_Obi-Wan shook off the hands. “You talk of obedience, and what the Code forbids us from doing, but you don’t care about what’s forbidden when it benefits you.”_

_The urge to strike the boy simultaneously enticed and disgusted him. He looked down at Obi-Wan, as if he was arguing with a stranger. “Tread with care, my very young and brash apprentice. You speak of things you can’t possibly understand.”_

_Obi-Wan lifted his chin in challenge. “I may be young, and I may not understand, but I know your...devotion to Tahl goes beyond any mandate.”_

_Qui-Gon’s jaw clenched. There were things that had long gone unspoken between himself and Tahl. To have those sacred, unconsummated feelings thrown in his face now, by this child, was intolerable. “You are out of bounds, Obi-Wan.” His voice was cool. “We will have much to discuss when we return to the Temple, the foremost topics being obedience and tact. Your punishment will take longer to be decided.”_

_If he had hoped his apprentice would quail at the threat, he was wrong. Obi-Wan did not move. “I realize now that there is more to being a Jedi than the Code. You taught me that, and if you won’t help me, you…” Only then did the boy hesitate, “...you must let me stay here.”_

_Qui-Gon’s laughed mirthlessly. “Your behavior today has been insulting and insolent, but I’m not going to leave you here.” He motioned to the ravaged land around them. “And I don’t know what you think you’d be able to accomplish here on your own in the first place. A centuries-old war cannot be resolved by one inexperienced apprentice.”_

_Obi-Wan squared his shoulders. “Then I will do what I can, which is better than doing nothing.”_

_It was this place. Melida/Daan had all but drained the life from Tahl, stripped her of her sight, and now its tainted roots were curling around Obi-Wan, demanding more blood for the planet’s eternal legacy of hatred and slaughter. But Qui-Gon would not allow Tahl or Obi-Wan to be sacrificed on the altar of fallen statues of a fallen planet. He would take them both home. “And I will do what I must.” Qui-Gon answered, seizing Obi-Wan’s arm and dragging him towards the ship._

_Obi-Wan tried unsuccessfully to free himself from the iron grip. “Qui-Gon! Master! Let me go!”_

_He had let Xanatos go. Those taunting eyes peered at him through layers of memory, beautiful blue eyes that were rotted by Darkness long before the acid pits on Telos melted them away. His second Padawan had declared his renouncement of the Order and Qui-Gon’s objections were dismissed with cruel arrogance. Then Xanatos had Turned. And after he was but a ghoulish mimicry of the charming boy he had once been, Xanatos died, in agony, in a final scorching denial of the Light._

_He would not let Obi-Wan go._

_The younger Jedi twisted and writhed in his arms. “Master,” Obi-Wan grunted, “Stop! I must help them!”_

_Sweat stung his eyes, but he still lugged the resisting maelstrom of elbows and kicking legs up the ramp._

_“Qui-Gon!” Tahl’s battered voice rang through the din of their tussle._

_His stomach flipped; he glanced in the direction of her call. It was a split second’s distraction, but it was enough for Obi-Wan to wriggle loose and leap from the ramp. He landed hard in a defensive crouch, and his lightsaber flared to life, pointed at Qui-Gon._

_The Master stood, long hair whipping around his face, staring down at his apprentice._

_“I must help them, Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan said again. A vivid red slash marked his cheek. “As your Padawan, or not.”_

_Qui-Gon raised his hands, and saw more smeared blood on his fingertips. He could hear Xanatos’ scornful laughter, see the crescent burn on his pale cheek. “_ There will always be blood on your hands, my vaunted Master. I was your student, and so my failures, my sins, are yours too.” _His chest heaved. Obi-Wan’s battle stance was only symbolic--in a real duel, the boy would not stand a chance. Yet it was the meaning of the gesture itself that hurt most of all. A few months before, he accompanied Obi-Wan to Ilum to construct the very weapon now held out against him. Obi-Wan knew, perhaps better than anyone, what it took for Qui-Gon to finally move past that dark time in his life. Qui-Gon was struck by disbelief that such hard-worn trust could be so quickly shunned, and by the person, against all uncertainty and misgivings, he had pledged to teach and protect._

_This was not Xanatos. This was something he had not thought possible. It was worse. Qui-Gon wove his arms in the voluminous sleeves of his tunic. “I will not raise my weapon against you, Obi-Wan. I would rather drive it through my own chest,” the words carried a damning rebuke, “but if you choose to stay here, against my wishes, then you are not my Padawan.”_

_Obi-Wan visibly shivered. He extinguished the blue blade, but instead of replacing it in its sheath, he took slow, deliberate steps forward._

_Qui-Gon swallowed his despair as the hilt was presented to him. Obi-Wan bowed deeply, his stubby braid swaying with the movement. The desperate impulse to grab the boy and lock him in the ship blazed through his senses. He was technically Obi-Wan’s legal guardian, and in this instance, he knew the Council would support him. But the road to Knighthood could not be traveled by the Master forcibly dragging the student along. He would not live in denial, as he had when Xanatos showed those first signs of straying. Qui-Gon took the cylinder from Obi-Wan’s hands, its surface smooth, the typical grooves from the owner’s grip just beginning to wear into the metal. “I see,” he murmured._

_Obi-Wan dropped his tearful gaze, and unfastened the utility belt from around his waist, handing it over. Then he stood, in his plain and filth-encrusted tunics, looking both older and younger than his thirteen years. “This isn’t what I want. But I must serve the Force...even without your blessing, even if it breaks my heart.”_

_Qui-Gon walked down the ramp, resting a hand on the bowed head. “You don’t have my blessing. What you are doing breaks my heart too.” He imbued his voice with a calmness and steadiness he didn’t feel. “You fought so hard to take your place by my side, Obi-Wan. I thought…” but he shook his head, unable to continue, their shared tomorrows crumbling around them like the toppled monuments of the Melida and Daan. “If you close this door now, you cannot knock upon it again. The Jedi Order does not exist to be taken up and abandoned at whim.” He inhaled the smoke-heavy air. “And if you do knock again, I will not answer.”_

_Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand, Qui-Gon.”_

_Not ‘Master’. He pressed a kiss into the sweaty hair. “May the Force be with you then,Obi-Wan Kenobi. Wherever it takes you...be good.”_

_“May the Force be with you,” Obi-Wan choked out. “I’m sorry.”_

_Qui-Gon found he had nothing to say, nothing he could say. He straightened, pulled the cowl up around his head, and strode up the ramp to see to Tahl._

_Alone._

_He didn’t look back._

——

The stone was found in a compartment of Obi-Wan’s belt, after Qui-Gon returned to Coruscant. It had not felt right to discard it, but he couldn’t bear to carry the relinquished gift with him either. His fingers ghosted over the red-veined surface. After Melida/Daan, the little river stone was the weight of a boulder. 

Obi-Wan smiled. “I assumed I had lost it, when…” 

“I thought you might want it back.” Qui-Gon interrupted, saving his companion from the awkward explanation, “I know it brought you comfort and strength when you were a boy.” Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s hand, and then withdrew, closing the drawer.

“Thank you, Master Jinn.” The apprentice still marveled at the poreless obsidian in his palm. “I am grateful that you kept it after all these years.”

_All these years._ The righteous anger constricted his chest again, but he reminded himself to live in the moment and in the moment, they were together. He clapped Obi-Wan’s back. “I was happy to preserve it for you.”

Obi-Wan stifled a yawn. “I was so confused when you first gave it to me. I didn’t know what to make of it, or you, to be honest..”

“Most don’t know what to make of me, so you are in ample company,” Qui-Gon chuckled. He watched the younger man surreptitiously rub his eyes and yawn again behind his hand. “What is it that keeps you from sleeping, Obi-Wan?”

A subtle tightening of shields. Obi-Wan shifted on the bed. “I’m not sure what to call them. If I’m lucky, they’re nightmares.”

“Ah.” This was not a new issue for Obi-Wan. He had been plagued by dark dreams, ‘bad feelings’, _visions_ since he was in the crèche. “I’m not surprised. Your life is in flux, and the future is uncertain.”

Obi-Wan nodded dutifully, closing his fist around the river stone. “I know this. I try to meditate and confront the visions, but their meanings remain...elusive.” 

“And your solution is to never sleep again?” 

Presented so plainly, and after the long and eventful night, the absurdity of the plan was enough to make them both laugh.

Obi-Wan appeared properly chagrined. “I admit it’s not the most realistic strategy I’ve ever employed.”

“No,” Qui-Gon concurred, “Your pledge would be broken the first time you were made to listen to one of Master Windu’s lectures.” The remark was made in jest, but he could not fully mask his bitterness. He reminded himself that thus far he had no proof that Mace was involved in the deception. 

He looked sidelong at Obi-Wan. Exhaustion radiated from his slouched frame, compounded by ripening pain from the clumsy landing on the dojo’s floor. “Here, let me look,” Qui-Gon lifted the back of the sleep shirt and hissed. A huge, purple-black bruise spread from flank to spine, bisected by a long, thankfully shallow gash. “I believe you have a ways to go before you can officially be called a master of Vaapad.”

“Ha,” was Obi-Wan’s concise reply. 

Qui-Gon stood and patted the pillow at the head of his bed. “Lay down and I’ll see if I can scrounge up some bandages.” 

Obi-Wan hesitated before pulling off the sleep shirt and stretching out on his side. “It’s not necessary, you know.” He called as Qui-Gon crossed into the ‘fresher, returning with a few basic supplies. “I can take care of it myself.”

“I’m sure you can. You’re quite talented at taking care of yourself.” The Master deadpanned, and pulled a chair beside the bed. “This will sting,” he warned, before spraying germicide into the fresh laceration. 

“Sith’s hells!” His patient cursed.

“I told you.”

—-

_“I told you, Qui-Gon, you stupid man.” Tahl and her fever both raged. She tried to prop herself up on her elbows, but quickly sunk back onto the thin cot, gasping._

_Qui-Gon stroked the dark hair spilled around her head. He wasn’t a healer, far from it, but he summoned what little restorative energy he possessed and poured it through his tender, worried touch. “It was not my choice.” He whispered. The ship thrummed beneath his boots, hurtling towards home, Melida/Daan already a distant fleck among the stars. “I tried, Tahl.”_

_She released a ragged breath. Her honey-dark skin glistened with sweat. “You left him...in a WARZONE.”_

_Qui-Gon held her wrist, comforted by the pulse fluttering against his fingers. “I appealed to him in any way I could. When that didn’t work, I tried hauling him into the ship. But he drew his saber against me.” He closed his eyes against the painfully recent memory. “He chose to forfeit his title, in order to remain with the Young.”_

_“In order to help,” the weakened Noorian Jedi rasped. She closed her trembling fingers around his much broader (though no steadier) hand. “He’s a child, Qui. Even a Jedi Padawan can be naive. Maybe more so.”_

_“I know, my friend.” He used a scrap of cloth to wipe her brow. “He would not bend. And I would not cross blades with him. I...couldn’t.” The last words came in a tired whisper. “Xanatos--”_

_“Was night, and Obi-Wan is day.” She interjected. Tears fell from her unfocused eyes, glinting in the shrouded light of the tiny cabin. “Oh Qui-Gon...I think you’ve lost him.”_

_It had happened so fast. Tahl had needed him. And it was_ blasphemous _for an apprentice to draw their weapon against another Jedi. Especially their own Master. A selfish part of him was incensed that the boy could betray him, knowing what Qui-Gon had endured with Xanatos. What was he supposed to do, beg on his hands and knees?_

_Tahl was drifting into turgid, sick unconsciousness again. She listlessly turned halfway toward him, and felt for his arm. “You must tell the Council at once. They can…” Her voice failed her, and she coughed, “...dispatch someone to Melida/Daan, to find him before…”_

_She could not finish the thought, nor would he. Her eyes closed._

_Qui-Gon dropped his head into his hands. He had indeed lost Obi-Wan, in the first corkscrew along their path. The reality spread like hot, nauseous panic. Another apprentice gone. He had thought, hoped, his personal trials after Xanatos fell would be the lowest point in his life. Obi-Wan Kenobi had somehow chipped away the armor around his jaded heart, showed him he could be a teacher again. Apprenticing the unclaimed initiate bound for the Agri-Corps had offered them both a second chance, and in the end, it had felt right, and fulfilling, and exciting._

_Now he sat in the beater ship, Obi-Wan’s lightsaber clipped beside his own. He spread the Padawan’s small belt across his lap. The Master was glad that Tahl slept deeply now, for there was some grief that must be purged without judgement, or witness._

——

Qui-Gon spread the healing balm over the sizeable bruises. In the short time he had tended to the wounds, they had already evolved, darkening to a nasty blue-black. “You know, your Master fell out of a Zedalus tree once.”

Obi-Wan lifted his head from the pillow. “Who did?”

_Of course._ Qui-Gon chided himself. He needed to be more specific when speaking to someone going on his third mentor. “I’m sorry, Master Windu. When we were kids, he wasn’t as...reserved. He was a bit of a rapscallion, in fact. He wanted to climb higher than anyone else, but lost his footing and dropped. If Master Yoda had not used the Force to slow his descent, this would be a more macabre tale. Luckily, he lived to see another day, but he had bruises like this for weeks.” He chuckled. “Yoda would not heal them, as sometimes pain can be the greatest instructor of them all.” He bandaged the cut and sat back. “The liniment needs to dry.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said softly. 

The older man quelled any emotion before he could feel it. “Just don’t tell the old troll I helped with this. You’ll spare me the tirade on coddling foolhardy Padawans.”

“I promise, Master Jinn.” A careful pause, then, “You helped before, didn’t you?” 

Qui-Gon frowned. “Before?”

Obi-Wan sat up, only a slight flinch betraying his discomfort. “About two years ago. My Master—Master Ullo and I, were hit with poisonous gas on Rattatak. I don’t remember much of what happened after that, but from what I gathered, my initial prognosis was grim.”

An image of Obi-Wan, grey-faced and hooked to a web of tubes. Another, of Ullo Tirr, exhausted and unashamedly terrified. _“He’s dying.”_ Qui-Gon didn’t say anything, waiting for Obi-Wan to continue.

“I woke up in the Temple infirmary. I didn’t understand what was happening and a breathing tube was down my throat, so I couldn’t exactly ask. I saw a blurred sea of anonymous faces. But the first face I saw I _did_ recognize, because it was yours. You were gone almost immediately, but it was you. I didn’t ask Ullo about it, because…”

Qui-Gon smirked. “Because he hated me?”

“He didn’t hate _anyone_ ,” Obi-Wan insisted in proper Jedi tone, crossing his arms. But a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Apart from you.” 

“Your Master was a fine man. I’m honored that I held such a special place in his heart.” Qui-Gon placed a hand against his chest with exaggerated flair before sobering. “But yes, I was there.”

Obi-Wan swallowed, the satisfaction of confirming a long-held hypothesis reflected in his solemn eyes. The day broke in through the blinds and lit the edges of his auburn hair to gold. The apprentice pursed his lips, deepening the cleft in his chin. “I…” The Force hesitantly stirred, “Why?”

Qui-Gon’s gaze flicked downward. He wanted to be honest with Obi-Wan but the situation was more complex than it had been even an hour before. He could not pile confusion atop the Padawan’s overtaxed mind. “The Force called to me. I happened to be at the Temple. I’m sure others sensed a disturbance as well.”

But not as _he_ felt it, that bolt of ice through his heart, the compulsion to _go_ that demanded obeisance. 

“You and Ullo saved me.” It was not a question. 

“I did what I could.” Qui-Gon deflected the credit. “He was desperate, which I assume is why he didn’t kick me out of the room on my ass. It was then I knew you were in good hands.” 

Obi-Wan‘s smile was bittersweet. “I know. He wasn’t just my Master. He was my friend.”

Such a statement would have elicited a jealous pang, before. Now, Qui-Gon felt only deep sympathy. In the life of a Jedi, tragedy was a foregone conclusion. No Master, Knight or Padawan could escape the phantoms of loss. But Obi-Wan Kenobi seemed destined for sadness as much as he was destined for greatness. When Qui-Gon looked at the younger man, the shadow of fate cast a heavy pall, as Dark always sought Light, to snuff it out . “Obi-Wan, I know our shared past was complicated. But I would ask for your friendship, when you are ready.” He laid his hand on Obi-Wan’s arm. “And your forgiveness.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, incredulous. “You saved my life after I renounced your teachings. I am humbled by your words, Master Jinn, but you owe me nothing. I would be grateful for your friendship.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon tucked the long braid behind Obi-Wan’s bare shoulder, as he had done when the plaited strands were shorter, and the possibilities seemed to stretch into infinity. “It is my...foremost regret that I was not there to see the journey from the compassionate child you once were to the wise and generous man you have become. I hope that I can play some part in the chapters ahead.”

Obi-Wan folded his fingers around the river stone. When he looked up at Qui-Gon again, it was through a sheen of moisture. “After I woke up in the Healer’s Ward, they took me for testing. I was attached to some manner of awful medical droid when I crashed.”

“Crashed?”

“That’s how Healer Che referred to it. I was in the process of scans when something inside me shifted. It was as if the Force itself was shuddering. I couldn’t breathe, my mind went black and I passed out. It took some time to rouse me, and then I was subjected to additional tests. Healer Che never did determine the cause. Ullo chalked it up to trauma. He was eager to put it behind us, but I remember feeling _bereft_.”

Qui-Gon ran a hand over his beard. _Force_. How much could he, could either of them, bear? 

Obi-Wan was studying his face, wearing an indeterminable expression on his own. “I used to feel what I thought were echoes, sometimes. Remnants in the Force, of a presence that was neither mine nor my Master’s. It wasn’t until after Rattatak, and my ‘crash’, that I realized what I had felt, for years, was some part of our connection that had not...dissipated.”

Qui-Gon leaned back in his chair and sighed. “When I left Melida/Daan, I didn’t completely sever the training bond. Perhaps I was in denial, harboring some foolish—“ He stopped himself before going any further down that road. _Not yet_. “The night Ullo and I spent at your bedside, I saw how important you were to him. I knew then you had a strong and devoted teacher. I was forced to confront my lingering attachment, and that is why I cut those last threads that still tied us, in some small way, together. I should not have held onto that long-dormant link, or released it so suddenly, when you were in no shape to handle it.” He met Obi-Wan’s patient gaze, “There are many things I should not have done, Obi-Wan.”

And there they sat, in silence, in the starkness of daylight, with many more things finally brought into the light. 

Obi-Wan was the first to speak again. “I missed it. Your presence, I mean. I never told Ullo, because it seemed akin to betrayal.” He rubbed his eyes. His voice was a dry rasp. “Blast, I’m tired.”

“Here,” Qui-Gon flattened the pillows behind Obi-Wan, and the younger man laid down on his side, not protesting when a blanket was draped across him. “I’m sure this bed is better than the ones in the temporary dorms. My theory is they don’t want Knights in the field to miss the comforts of home.”

Obi-Wan massaged his forehead with a thumb and forefinger, abruptly tense. “I have chosen the worst time to become exhausted. Master Windu will be contacting me any moment, and—“

Qui-Gon quieted him with a hand to his shoulder. “You are well beyond exhaustion. There is nothing to do now but surrender. As for Master Windu,” He kept his tone perfectly neutral, “I will let him know. I need to speak to him anyway.” He noticed Obi-Wan still held the river stone in a loose fist. “But If you are concerned about more dreams or visions, channel your feelings into the stone.” He was damned, because he could not help but brush his fingers across the creases of the worried brow. “Know that you are not alone, Obi-Wan. You possess more strength than you would ever admit. If you need more than that, you can have mine.”

And he delivered the promise, opening his shields, touching the other Jedi’s mind, projecting thoughts of peace.

When he opened his eyes, Obi-Wan’s were closed, and his breathing had slowed. “I’m far too old for sleep suggestions, you know.” The Padawan mumbled, barely prying one eyelid open to look at Qui-Gon. 

“Yet far too young to know what is best for you.” Qui-Gon amended the statement, tucking the blanket in around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “Your mind is clear in the Force. There will be no visions. Your only duty right now is to rest. Everything” and _everyone_ “else can wait.”

Then Qui-Gon Jinn waited again, until Obi-Wan had fallen deeply beneath the soothing currents of slumber. _Stay there_ , he whispered in the Force, in warning to the specters that haunted Obi-Wan’s grieving mind, and stroked his hair. _Stay asleep_.

He heard a commlink chirp from the other room. Mace was right on cue. Reluctantly, Qui-Gon stood, taking in the tableau before one last time, knowing it would more than likely be the only time his former apprentice would be so unguarded in his presence. If he was permitted in Obi-Wan’s presence at all, after today. 

So it was with a renewed sense of purpose, and an undeniable streak of indignant anger, that Qui-Gon quietly took his leave, in search of Mace Windu, and answers.


	7. Part VII

Part VII

He found the Korun Master outside the High Council Chambers. Mace Windu raised a brow when he caught sight of Qui-Gon. “Master Jinn,” he greeted neutrally. 

“Are you headed into a session?” Qui-Gon asked, foregoing pleasantries.

Mace had a way of appearing simultaneously unruffled and irritated, a controlled storm. He smoothed his tunics. “I am. I was hoping to speak to my apprentice beforehand, but he’s not answering his comm.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t suppose you would have anything to do with that?”

“Your aforementioned apprentice had, until this morning, sworn off sleep completely.”

Mace’s dark eyes narrowed. “ _He what?_ ” 

“He found some obscure texts to support his scheme.” Qui-Gon schooled his own features. “He decided it was preferable to his nightmares.”

“Star’s end,” Mace muttered, shaking his head. Several Council Members walked in between them, brief apparitions of brown and cream, filing through the wide doorway. His face was carved in grave, shadowed lines. “I will excuse myself from the meeting.” With obvious reluctance, he added, “Thank you for informing me, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon looped his arms through his robe sleeves. “He is sleeping now. I think it would be best to let him be.”

Mace compressed his mouth into a thin line. “I don’t require your counsel in matters of my Padawan.” He took a step closer. “I wonder why it is I find you tangled in his affairs so frequently? And for your information, I wasn’t planning on disturbing him, but I would at least like to know _where he is_ , as my messages have gone unanswered, and his room is empty.”

“He is asleep in my quarters.” Avoiding the truth was pointless, and the opposite of his self-appointed mission. “He was well past his limits. Master Tirr’s death has been hard on him.”

Mace’s jaw clenched. In that moment, it was a wonder they had ever been friends. “If Obi-Wan needs guidance, I will make myself available for him. Transitioning into the role of his Master has taken more time than I intended, but he _is_ my priority. Need I remind you, Qui-Gon, that he accepted my offer of apprenticeship. Ullo Tirr did not appreciate your peripheral presence in Obi-Wan’s life, and neither do I.”

Qui-Gon breathed in. “Do you consider me a bad influence? I may be a thorn in the Council’s side, but I--”

“A sizeable thorn.” Mace corrected, shooting him a long-suffering look.

“Fine, I won’t argue that. But I have only his best interests in mind, Mace. To restrict me from Obi-Wan would be cruel. And Ullo Tirr did not object to my presence, nor my assistance, when Obi-Wan was hovering near death.”

Mace remained a formidable opponent in all arenas. The strike did not land. “Cruel to whom? I have been on the Council a long while, Qui-Gon. I am privy to things you are not. So disengage yourself now, while I am in a charitable mood. Leave the past, and Obi-Wan, where they belong.” His eyes cooly raked over Qui-Gon and then he turned to enter the Chambers.

Qui-Gon watched the retreating back. “He belongs with me.”

Mace stopped. The Force seethed and his shoulders tensed. He pivoted around to face Qui-Gon again. “I told you. Quit while you’re ahead.”

“He belongs with me, Mace,” Qui-Gon reiterated. The eventful night had galvanised his conviction. “It’s what the Force wants.”

“Interesting. It just happens that the Force always wants exactly what _you_ want. I’ve heard that enough in Council, Qui-Gon. Your freewheeling excuses have gotten you out of trouble more times than I can count, but they will grant you no leniency with me. Not in this.”

“It’s not an excuse.” Qui-Gon argued, “Why do you think I sense Obi-Wan’s distress? Our connection has endured years of separation and trials.”

“Only because YOU won’t accept the truth!” Mace hissed sharply. Then he seemed to realize his proximity to the ongoing session and stalked further down the corridor and out of the Council’s earshot. He whirled around, cloak flying at his heels. “You cling to an ideal that never existed. Do you really need to be reminded that Obi-Wan was already your apprentice? If your destinies are so intertwined, why did you lose your way with him after a few _months_?” 

“We did lose our way. Perhaps if I had not been prevented from seeing him when he returned from Melida/Daan, we would have found it again.” He dropped his hands to his hips. “Yoda told me Obi-Wan was given the choice between training with Ullo Tirr or myself. But last night I talked to Obi-Wan. He was not presented with any choice, Mace.”

Mace grit his teeth, the storm swirling around him, but he stayed silent.

Qui-Gon nodded, a wry and resentful smile on his face. “So it is true. He didn’t know.”

“No,” Mace admitted, composure already regained, “He wasn’t told. Yoda relayed the information about your...renewed interest before the Council, but it was decided by others that the boy would fare better under Ullo’s tutelage.”

Qui-Gon had to slow his spastic heart. He wondered if he needed the river stone more than Obi-Wan, now. “Others?” He spat. “What others?”

“Does it matter? Ullo and Obi-Wan were a solid team. Will you begrudge a dead man the happiness he found in life, Qui-Gon?”

“If Tirr was involved in this deception, death does not absolve him of blame. Obi-Wan may have accepted your invitation, but he wasn’t aware he had any other options. But he does, and when he wakes up, I _will_ tell him. He will choose me. I have no doubt of that.”

Mace gave a hollow chuckle. “You’ve always been like this, since we were kids. If half our ranks possessed your level of confidence, the Order would be unstoppable. And insufferable.”

“I do have the utmost confidence in the Force.” Qui-Gon straightened. “I ignored its warnings on Melida/Daan. I let him go when I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I should have gone to him when he came back to the Temple. I should have—“

“And this is what you don’t understand, Qui-Gon. The should-haves are inconsequential. Obi-Wan is my apprentice. I made a promise to Ullo. He trusted me to keep it.”

“Mace—“

“He confided in me what Obi-Wan went through, after you left him on Melida/Daan. It is only lucky timing and a Force-given miracle that Kenobi made it out alive.”

Qui-Gon stared into the unreadable eyes. His stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”

_Ullo Tirr’s accusing voice in the healing ward. “I had to beg him to leave Melida/Daan with me, he was so scarred by what he saw. What was done to him. Did you feel that, Master Jinn?”_

Mace looked around the empty corridor before answering. “Obi-Wan attempted to kill himself on Melida/Daan.”

Qui-Gon felt blood roar in his ears. _No_. He knew that boy who stood in passionate defiance against him, in defense of innocent lives, a brilliant streak of Light in the smoke and death-choked atmosphere of Melida/Daan. _He wouldn’t…_

“He did, Qui-Gon,” Mace persisted, in the same calm tone he used to commence Council meetings or request a cup of tea. “He slit his own throat. With a knife.”

Qui-Gon looked beyond Mace, unblinking at the horror of his own imagination, the dark backdrop of terrible secrets. _Slit his...? Obi-Wan?_ He steeled himself against the urge to retch, or sink to his knees. All he managed to utter was a single, feeble “ No….”

Mace Windu was a true Jedi. He stood before Qui-Gon without a trace of satisfaction. “Hardly anyone knows this,” he said quietly, “Officially his wounds were listed as the result of battle. Ullo had an uphill climb to make with that boy. But he _wanted_ to help Obi-Wan.”

Qui-Gon nodded mutely, numbly, hearing the words as if Mace were speaking from another roommate. He had not known. How could he know… _this_? His mind was full of Obi-Wan as he was at thirteen, the brave and serious and laughing and earnest boy, hopeful eyes and unguarded smile. All the potential, all the Light, in the Universe. 

A ship. A fight. A knife.

A damned _knife_ …

“I didn’t want to add this to your conscience, Qui-Gon,” Mace said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But I think now you can see why things happened as they did. And why it would be better for you both if you left his training to me.”

Any attempt at reply sputtered out before it could reach his lips. Dimly he was aware of the sound of measured footsteps, Mace’s footsteps, fading into the distance. 

——-

_Ullo Tirr was not happy. He had not been happy for months, and anyone who could claim they were happy after being assigned to protect an insufferable Abyssin Senator for several cycles who talked endlessly (only of himself) and never finished a meal without leaving half of it wedged in the random spaces between his teeth was a Sith-twisted liar of the worst kind. Said Senator had even trailed after him to his transport, an old grey hulking thing, the most beautiful thing Ullo had ever seen. “Are you really positive the threat is gone, my Jedi friend? I can’t shake the feeling I will eat poisoned soup tonight.”_

_What Ullo_ wanted _to say was “you will stand a greater chance of eating poisoned soup if I stay” but he was a Jedi, and finally getting OUT of Byss, so instead he sketched a dignified bow and said “it has been my honor to serve you, Senator,” and tried very hard not to sprint up the ramp with an undignified whoop of relief._

_He was finally going home. He would sleep in the Temple again and soak in the peace and quiet, before the next inevitable mission came._

_Except, not a day into his blissfully silent flight he received a transmission from Master Yoda himself, instructing him to reroute his destination to an Outer Rim planet called Melida/Daan._

_“Retrieve a Padawan called Obi-Wan Kenobi, you must. In grave danger, I fear he is. Closest to his location, you are. Details, we will send you.”_

_The report held little more information than the old Master’s cryptic message. Melida/Daan sounded like a real treat, what with the never ending civil war and the gaggle of kids forming their own resistance army. An image of Obi-Wan Kenobi floated on the hover screen but it had to be an old picture, because this wasn’t just a Padawan, this was a very new Padawan, the can’t drink-or legally drive a speeder-or shave type. He didn’t know who Kenobi’s Master was but he couldn’t figure out how a kid that looked like he was fresh out of the crèche ended up alone in the middle of a war in the Outer Rim._

_And he was not happy, at all, that he was the one to be searching for this little blue-eyed needle in a planet-sized haystack. Partly because he was kriffing tired, but mostly because he wasn’t a...kid person. This got him into rows with friends and the Council alike, but Ullo Tirr was of the opinion that one could be a useful member of the Jedi Order without spending years wiping noses and always having to look over your shoulder. He had just done that for months with the needy Senator. He much preferred talking to senior Padawans, who could take care of themselves and carry on a decent conversation and crack a joke or two. And then he could go back to his own life, which was truly without attachments, the way he liked it. If that meant he never attained the rank of Master, then he would be content—and free—as a Knight._

_He landed on Melida/Daan with coordinates to the capitol and a persistent ache behind his left eye. Going from whiny politician’s nursemaid to Have-You-Seen-This-Boy had to be a low point in his career thus far. No doubt he wanted to find Kenobi safe and sound. He just wanted to be quick about it. The place was not exactly a tropical paradise._

_Kenobi had no weapon or comm with him. This made things more challenging, but Ullo had the Force, which was a bit like an Errant Padawan Detector in itself. Brand new apprentices were not known for their excellent shielding skills. The kid would probably be broadcasting like a foghorn when he got close enough._

_He walked along the cracked stone paths, looking out at the listless grey horizon, casting constant feelers into the ether. Really, how had Kenobi got himself lost here? The only adnorments along the flat, leeched scenery were crumbling monuments and shriveled husks of trees. At least Byss had the occasional view. He had been traveling more than an hour when he saw a pinpoint, moving towards him, materializing into a girl. She was human, brown-skinned with scrapes on her cheeks and wide, black eyes, and wore a sodden oversized tunic and torn leggings. He was bad with ages but Ullo guessed she was eight, or ten, or twelve._

_“Jedi! Are you a Jedi?” The girl grabbed his elbow, gulping air after her desperate run. “You look like one. You look like the other one did.”_

_Ullo carefully removed his elbow from her fingers and crossed his arms. “The other one?”_

_“Yeah, the big bearded guy. But he’s gone now and that’s the problem, because we have a doctor but he’s really old. His hands shake and he said that’s why he can’t sew that well.”_

_Ullo blinked. “Sew?”_ That doesn’t sound good. _The Force curdled in his gut. He shook his head to clear it. “Was the bearded Jedi here with a younger Jedi named Obi-Wan Kenobi?”_

_“Yeah!” The girl’s eyes lit up. “Do you know him?”_

_“No,” Ullo’s smile was grim, “but I have to find him.”_

_—-_

_The girl led him along a desolate, winding path, traversing abandoned buildings and narrow openings he could barely squeeze through. On the way she told him all about the war, the Young, and the Jedi who had come down from the sky._

_“But the big one left. We were so happy Obi-Wan stayed, but then Cerasi was killed and Nield just disappeared, and now everything might be worse than it was before.” She finished, ragged boots stopping suddenly in the middle of a dilapidated sidewalk. “I really hope Obi-Wan doesn’t die too. It’s like everyone I know dies. We were just getting to know him.”_

_He didn’t know what to say in response to such plain-spoken tragedy and hardship, coming from a girl whose age mates on more fortunate worlds probably still wanted to sleep with a light on. And her passing comment about Kenobi send a cold shiver along the hairs on his arms. “Why have we stopped?” He asked._

_She crouched down and started yanking at a heavy cover half-imbedded in the duracrete. “Because we’re HERE,” the girl grunted, falling backward. She scratched the brown, braided knots at her scalp and glanced up at Ullo. “You’re probably gonna get fleas coming down here, but I guess a Jedi probably deals with a lot of annoying stuff, huh?”_

__Recently, yes. _But he just smiled and flicked his fingers at the cover. It moved to the side with a heavy groan._

_The girl grinned. “That was wicked! If I didn’t have to be here I’d TOTALLY be a Jedi.”_

_Ullo Tirr, who didn’t care for children and would really rather be anywhere else, felt his heart contract. He tucked his hair behind his ears and jumped down after the girl into the dark sewers below._

_—_

_Ullo Tirr had never actually been inside a sewer system before, but he had never eaten fried White Bantha brains until that interesting stopover in Nelvaan, so he supposed there was a first time for everything._

_It was obviously not the girl’s first time in the underground maze. She hurried along with urgency, talking about her parents who died about a year before, and her brother, who was missing._

_“The other kids tell me I’m dumb for thinking it, but I bet he’s still out there somewhere,” she said, sloshing through the anonymous liquid. She craned her neck to look back at Ullo, lines of dirt in the creases of the skin there. “Do Jedi people like you have parents and brothers and sisters?_

_Ullo cleared his throat. It was a question the more bold -or nosy- of outsiders asked. Usually he deflected with the standard ‘the Order is my family’, but he looked at the orphan girl’s expectant face and found himself telling her the truth. “We have biological families like everyone else. But if a child has the potential to become a Jedi, many times their family will give them to the Jedi Order. Mostly this happens when the child is an infant.”_

_Her eyes were black, gleaming saucers in the jaundiced light. “You mean like a BABY?”_

_He smiled at her innocent shock. “Yes. But I was quite a bit older than that when the Jedi found me. I think my mother wanted to keep me, and then I became such a handful she threw up her hands and said ‘take him!’” He chuckled._

_They clomped past several ominous, dark corridors before the girl spoke again. “Do you remember them? Your family?”_

_The muck was up to his ankles. It smelled like death, if death smelled worse than death. Maybe like death’s sweat and excrement, churning in a cold soup around their feet. “Yes,” He said, feeling the change in the Force as they walked. They were getting close._

_“That’s good,” the girl said, taking a sharp turn at a crumbling alcove. “I hope I never forget my parents. They weren’t nice like you, but I loved them. My brother always teases me, but I love him too.”_

_Ullo noticed the change in tense between her talk of the slain parents and missing sibling. “You won’t forget them,” he told her quietly, from a place inside him he kept hidden from even his closest friends at the Temple. “And I hope you find your brother.”_

_“Thanks,” the girl’s energy had ebbed into solemnity as they, at last, approached the Young headquarters. “I’m glad you found Obi-Wan. We call him Obi even though he kind of acts like that’s a silly thing to do. So since he’s a Jedi too is he like your little brother?” She stopped at a makeshift entrance, the door nothing but a mildewed canvas curtain, and beat a quick, precise rhythm against the duracrete wall._

_“In a way, I guess.”_

_She looked up at him again. “That’s good, because that big guy just_ went away _, like my brother and Nield. Obi could use someone nice like you right now, because…” Her gaze dropped. “Well, he just could.”_

_Ullo had rarely been called ‘’nice’ in his life. He could make anyone laugh (except a certain Senator) and he was getting pretty damn decent with a saber, but he wasn’t the warm and fuzzy stand-in uncle little kids wanted him to be. Which meant this girl had exceptionally low standards for ‘nice’ and that was a thought too depressing to examine. Her cryptic mentions of the Padawan were also more than worrisome._

_A taller boy ducked from under the filthy curtain, and sized up the two arrivals. “RiRi? Who is this guy?”_

_RiRi grabbed Ullo’s sleeve to pull him forward. “He’s a Jedi! Can’t you tell?! He’s really clean and wearing one of those robes.” She glanced at Ullo, wordlessly conveying her embarrassment at her comrade’s lack of savvy. “He’s here for Obi, so hurry.”_

_The boy looked Ullo up and down again, then muttered a string of colorful words he seemed too young to know. Hells, Ullo felt too young to know them. “Nield heads for the hills and now we’ve got adults and Jedi everywhere” the boy grumbled, “C’mon, mister, Obi is with Doc.”_

_Ullo bent under the half-raised cloth and found himself in a crowded grey hovel. The head of a statue sat in the center of the cracked floor, staring out at him from a ruined and unknowable past. Children were everywhere, bedraggled and curious of this new Jedi in the midst of their cluttered, sunken home._

_“Where is this Doc?” Ullo asked, surprised by the apprehension in his own voice._

_“Over here,” RiRi said, walking next to the distrustful lookout, giving him a sharp little nudge in the side when he cursed again._

_In a shadowed corner, an elderly human man was on his knees next to a smaller figure. The clothing on the prone body was ripped and sullied with brown and crimson stains, but as he drew closer, Ullo recognized them as the standard Jedi uniform._

_Doc rose slowly to his feet. He must have been a towering man in his youth, but he seemed to curve in a permanent stoop now, thick grey hair gathered in two braids that trailed halfway down his chest. As with most beings Ullo had seen on Melida/Daan, Doc wore rags and looked too thin. The hand he extended to Ullo was coarse, marked by scars, but his grip was warm and reassuringly strong. “I certainly hope you’re here for him.”_

_Ullo would not have believed this was the same boy as the smiling student in the Temple’s report, except for the rust-colored hair and learner’s braid. Gauze was wrapped around his neck, and a square bandage had been attached to his thigh. Blood seeped through both fabrics. Ullo hunched down to rest his hand on Kenobi’s forehead. Blazing fever met his questing touch and he gazed up at Doc. “What happened?”_

_Doc sighed and wiped at his red-rimmed eyes. “From what I can gather, the boy did this to himself. He was found with a homemade knife. Nearly bled out before they got him back here.”_

_Kenobi’s skin was blanched white. Dried blood crusted the corners of his mouth. He was motionless save for subtle, uneven breaths. Ullo spread his palm over the narrow chest. He could barely sense Kenobi in the Force; his presence was subdued and utterly still._

_“He’s been like that almost the whole time. He’s opened his eyes every now and then, and asked for a ’Master’ and he seems very sorry about something.” Doc said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s deep in delirium at this point. I was astonished when they brought me to him and he was still alive.”_

_Ullo knew he should peel back the gauze and see what he was dealing with, but he paused to regard Doc again. “Are you one of the Young?”_

_The wrinkled man laughed, hard and hoarsely. “Do I look like it? No, but I’m not a Melida or Daan either. Nonsense, all of it. I’m a healer, and I’ll help where I’m needed. I try to check in on these little ruffians when I can. It’s unnatural for children to raise themselves, especially on this sense-forsaken rock. If I can patch up a wound or ease a bit of pain, it makes me feel a smidge better about the fact we’re all wasting our lives.”_

_“That is admirable.” Ullo studied Kenobi’s slack face. “He’s in a healing trance,” the Knight concluded. “It’s something Jedi can do, though he’s young to do one this deep, especially in his current...state.”_

_Doc dashed the sweat from his liver-spotted brow. “It’s a good thing he can. I don’t have much in the way of supplies. When I get my hands on anything decent there’s always some kind of bloody skirmish, or they’re merely stolen when I sleep. I’ve been keeping the cuts clean, or as clean as they can be when your sick bay is a sewer.” He smiled bitterly, showing a mouthful of chipped and yellowed teeth. “No sprawling medical centers like on Coruscant around here. I have a needle and thread, but the palsy makes it slow going.”_

_Ullo quelled a shudder, feeling the shaky needle pricks on his own throat. He swallowed. “Do you think he’s stable enough to be moved?” The Council must not have known about Kenobi’s injuries when they rerouted Ullo to retrieve the kid. Ullo didn’t exactly have a medical team with him, or much healing experience, but getting out of Melida/Daan seemed of paramount importance._

_Doc tapped his chin thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Where you’re taking him, he has a better chance than staying here. The present goal is to reduce his fever, which I fear is the result of infection, from the gash in his leg.” A worn-out sadness softened the creases around the man’s eyes. “This place sucks out all the good. This boy is a Jedi and look at what it’s done to him.”_

_Ullo gazed at Obi-Wan Kenobi, barely more than an initiate, fighting for his life against the ramifications of his own staggering violence. This world was nearly heartless, lost in a thick fog of inherited hate and distrust, but Ullo didn’t think that was enough for a Padawan to...do what Kenobi had done to himself. There was more. He just hoped the kid would make it through so he could explain._

_“I need to get him to a proper medical station. I’ll help him with the trance until then,” he murmured, really speaking to no one, the weight of his new mission already settling on his shoulders. His task was not, as it turned out, to just find Kenobi, but save his life, and the threat of failure loomed at the edges of Ullo’s mind._

_Doc crouched beside him, and laid his hand across the boy’s forehead. “If you have a ship, bring it here, as close as you can. I can tell you what to do for the wounds and fever. The poor thing has made it this long without any pain meds. Do you have any?”_

_“General relief meds, on the ship,” Ullo confirmed._

_“More for headaches than cut throats,” Compassion was obvious in the crooked line of the old healer’s back, a warmth in the Force. “But it’s better than nothing, which is what we have here. Our speciality on Melida/Daan, after all….nothing.”_

_Ullo found he could not argue with that summation. He stood and dusted the knees of his leggings. “You’ll stay with him until I return with the ship?”_

_“I will,” Doc said. “I’ll fix the bandages one more time. That should get you through until you get somewhere decent.”_

_Ullo bowed deeply. “The Jedi are indebted to you for your kindness. I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” He hurried past the smudged faces of the other children, but stopped when he came upon RiRi. She sat on a pile of soiled blankets and leapt to her feet as he approached. “Did you make Obi better?”_

_“No,” he admitted, “but I’m trying.”_

_“That’s good! We’re all trying or we wouldn’t be here.” She smiled. “Obi was trying really hard to help us. That’s why he stayed when the big Jedi left. He said...um...he said something was calling him to help us. I can’t remember the word, though.”_

_“The Force?”_

_“That’s it! He said the Force would help him help us. That was before Cerasi died though. He got sad after that, we all did. He was really good friends with Cerasi, and Nield too.”_

_Kenobi’s motivations were starting to become clear. Ullo patted RiRi’s head, thinking if Padawans were more like her, he’d have his own by now. “Thank you, my friend.”_

_She grinned in open delight. “You’re my friend too! But you’re gonna have fleas.”_

_Ullo chuckled. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be back soon.”_

_He left the sewers the way they came in, running through the rivers of sludge and leaping back up into Melida/Daan’s atmosphere. Then he ran faster, past the fallen monuments and ravages of war, praying to the Force he could prevent Obi-Wan Kenobi from becoming the latest casualty._

_—_

_The Young were all waiting for him when he returned, clustered against the walls or peering out at him from hiding spots. RiRi and the surly doorkeeper stood at the forefront, surprisingly subdued for young, untamed children. He walked by the bodiless statue, ignoring the jagged line of decapitation, the half-missing neck. It was not exactly an image he wanted to take with him._

_Doc had wrapped Kenobi in a blanket worn so thin it was almost transparent. But it was clean, and Ullo realized this was meant as a symbol of the Young’s gratitude. “He’s as good as he’s going to get. I worry for him. He’s lost a significant amount of blood.”_

_But Kenobi was Jedi. Or a mini-Jedi, anyway. “He’s strong. Thank you for getting him this far.”_

_Doc shrugged. “We all have our jobs to do. Mine isn’t so pleasant, but neither is yours. We just have to do them.”_

_It was an apt observation, and Ullo bowed in response. Then the two men carefully transferred the boy’s limp body into Ullo’s arms._

_“Watch his neck,” Doc warned._

_Ullo carried his new burden across the Young’s decayed headquarters, through a path lined with the battle-scarred children. RiRi waved to him, and he tilted his head toward her and smiled._

_He wanted to say he would be back, or that the Jedi would find a way to reunite the estranged factions and end the bloodshed, but Ullo Tirr was not the kind to make promises he almost certainly couldn’t keep._

_\----_

_The nearest medical station was half a parsec away. He hoped it was, in Doc’s words, ‘decent’, but at this point Ullo would be rapturous just to get Kenobi anywhere with healers and medical equipment._

_The kid was settled on an inset bunk. Ullo rummaged in the medkit and then sat at Kenobi’s side, holding a hypo against the crux of a waxen arm._

_One eye fluttered open. “Mmm…?”_

_Kenobi tried to shift in the blankets but Ullo pressed his hand to the boy’s chest, projecting calm through the Force. “Hey there, just...relax, alright?”_

_Ullo had a feeling the way Kenobi melted back into the bunk didn’t have as much to do with his suggestion as it did with sheer exhaustion and sickness. He swallowed with an audible click. “Do you...I mean, can you drink water?”_

_Kenobi tried to nod, but the motion strained the bandage around his neck, and he gasped._

_“Don’t move. We can make it work.” Ullo held a cup to cracked lips, tipping to let drops hit Kenobi’s tongue. It was a slow process. “We’re on the way to help.” He reached awkwardly for the right words to cajole a Padawan with an apparent death wish. “You’ve done really good, Obi-Wan. I know that healing trance wasn’t easy. You just need to keep doing good.”_

_Kenobi’s other eye opened. “Be...good.” He rasped._

_Ullo nodded encouragingly. “Yeah. I gave you something that should make it hurt less.”_

_“Where?”_

_“Just your arm.”_

_“No...where...going?”_

_“Oh,” Ullo heard the dry scrape of the boy’s voice, and gave him more water. “A medical station. I contacted the Temple and they’re sending a healer too.”_

_Kenobi suddenly grabbed for his beard, weak fingers tangling in the wiry black hair. “Master...forgive…” He panted and wheezed. “Sorry...failed you...so sorry…”_

_Ullo held the hand still gripping his face. “Hey, Obi-Wan, don’t talk like that. You don’t have to be sorry.” He realized Doc was right: Kenobi was delusional, and seemed to think HE was the big bearded Jedi—whoever that happened to be. “You didn’t fail anyone. That was a really rough place. Everyone’s just gonna be glad you made it. So you have to make it, okay?”_

_Kenobi squeezed Ullo’s fingers. “Master...failed you.” Tears welled in the bloodshot blue eyes. “I...I…”_

_A wave of anger crested inside Ullo. He leaned in closer and combed sweaty hair off Kenobi’s face. “You know what? You didn’t fail anyone. I failed you by taking off without you. It’s me that should be sorry.” He thought of the blown-out buildings and empty streets, the children haunted by death and the statue’s head gaping at him._ Kriff your Master, kid. Kriff him for leaving you. _But he could not let his frustrations bleed through the Force. Kenobi was dealing with enough. “Most Jedi wouldn’t’ve been able to survive what you have, Obi-Wan. You stayed because you wanted to help those kids. That’s nothing to be sorry for.”_

_More tears slid sideways down Kenobi’s face, as he turned his head to look at Ullo. “Why can’t...can’t I feel you anymore?”_

_Who was this miserable excuse for a Master? The more Ullo learned about the guy, the more he wanted to throttle him. “You know why, Obi-Wan? Because I was really, supremely, epically stupid.”_

_“No…” the boy tried to argue, wetting his lips, “I was…”_

_“You’re just a kid.” Ullo finished for him. “I’m the adult, and I should’ve known better. Don’t apologize for your compassion. It’s more vital to the Jedi way than a saber.”_

_The meds were kicking in. Kenobi was fighting a losing battle with his eyelids. “Don’t want...don’t want to cut my braid…”_

_Ullo wiped the tears away with his fingers. “No one is going to cut your braid.” He said softly. “We’ll sort everything out, once you’re feeling better.”_

_Obi-Wan leaned into the brief touch. “Can’t...can’t feel you...Master...sorry…”_

__Well, shavit. _The Knight lowered his head, until his forehead rested lightly against the Padawan’s. He had last opened his shields for his own Master, as the man joined the Force two years before. While Ullo Tirr still breathed, he swore this pathetic cot on an old ship wouldn’t be this boy’s deathbed. He closed his eyes and let the walls around his mind fall away, seeking the battered and blinking spot of light in the distance, the spirit of Obi-Wan Kenobi, and bound them together there, in desperate hope, because it was duty, and more than that, because it felt right._


	8. Part VIII

Part VIII

Tahl found him in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He did not see her approach, but felt her grace as steady music in the Force, heard her breaths among the trickling of water. She sat beside him on their usual bench, and squeezed his knee. 

“What’s happened?”

He bowed his head, pressing his brow to the back of her hand. How could he say it? The shock of Mace’s revelation still pulsed through him. He had not eaten, or slept, or returned to the quarters where his guest still rested. 

She slid her fingers through his hair. “Obi-Wan?”

He nodded against her, sinking into the patience and unconditional compassion that he did not deserve. “I have to let him go, Tahl.”

“He’s chosen Master Windu?”

“I did not ask him to consider me. I can’t. Now that I know…” He bit off the terrible truth and stood, crossing his arms and looking out at the tranquil streams and pools. 

“What do you know?” 

A Master and apprentice walked by them. He did not recognize their faces but as they passed their easy accord brushed against him in the Force. It had never been so easy for him. “He wanted to stay. I tried...Tahl, I said everything I could but he was determined to remain with the Young.”

“Qui-Gon, you cannot punish yourself forever—“

He turned to her. “After I left him on Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan slit his throat.”

She covered her mouth. He could feel the wave of horror and disbelief. “No.” Bright tears trembled in her sightless eyes and she reached out for him. “Oh no…”

He knelt before Tahl, taking both her hands. “What is the punishment for _that_?”

She leaned forward and touched her forehead to his. “Qui-Gon, oh Qui-Gon, how could you anticipate he would do such a thing?”

She always smelled like home, and faraway places. He breathed deeply. “I was his Master. I left him there and blocked our link, because I was hurt by his decision. He tried to kill himself and I didn’t know. Ullo Tirr saved him. A thirteen year old Padawan slit his throat with a knife, a _knife_ , Tahl, in the middle of a war. No wonder the man despised me.”

She wiped the bitter moisture from his face. “But Obi-Wan does not despise you.”

“A testament to his generous heart.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “To think I was planning to challenge Mace’s intention to complete his training. That’s why I was looking for Mace, so I could accuse the Council of keeping me from Obi-Wan, and stress my inarguably superior claim to his apprenticeship, all with the drama and flair expected of the Temple’s foremost maverick.”

“You only wanted the opportunity to amend a mistake.”

“That’s just it. I cannot amend… _that_. In my head all I can see is that boy, so young and idealistic and innocent, holding a knife to his throat—“

A palpable shudder passed through her body. “Qui-Gon, please…”

“He offered his life to save mine on Bandomeer. He was _twelve_ , Tahl. I told him then that his life was worth more than mine, but he didn’t believe me. Because he idolized me, wanted nothing more than to be like me. I taught him to listen to the Force above all else, and then when he tried on Melida/Daan, I condemned him for it. I saw Xanatos, rather than a confused child.”

“He was wrong to draw his weapon against you.” She pointed out.

“Yes, and how he paid for that.” He rested his cheek on her knee. “He was never told, after returning from Melida/Daan, that I wanted a fresh start with him. I thought the Council was punishing me, but now I know they were protecting him.” He sighed. “I still want to be his Master. I want to show him that I was wrong all those years ago. We’ve both changed. He is a remarkable young man. But it seems my presence in his life has caused him little more than pain. I just want—“

She placed her hands against his beard and lifted his face. “Perhaps it is time someone asks _Obi-Wan_ what he wants.”

——

Obi-Wan cracked open one eye. Burnished orange light bled through the blinds, but that didn’t make sense, considering his interim quarters were windowless.

Or they had very small windows. He could not remember.

His mind had finally caught up with reality, in that he no longer expected to hear Ullo in the next room. This room was quiet, but nearly...

Peaceful. He had not slept without nightmare or vision since before, well, since before. He felt pleasantly muddled, uncertain if it was daybreak or dusk. He supposed there should be a chrono on the bedside table. No matter where he traveled, be it the most advanced or remote system, the usefulness of a chrono on a bedside table was an opinion universally held. He rolled over, propped himself on an elbow and blinked blearily.

Apparently this room was the exception. What kind of uncivilized person didn't need to know the time upon waking? It was not like Galactic City had a bell tower that dutifully, resoundingly rang in each new hour, as on Ivus Minor. 

He ran his hand along the sheets, warm from his own body. His fingers caught something smooth in the creases and he looked down at the river stone, its veins vibrant against obsidian, bright red rivers overlapping amongst darkness. 

Master Jinn’s quarters.

He laid back on the bed, holding the stone between two fingers, watching as the breaking-or-receding daylight glowed within it. When he was a child, he had done the same thing, those nights when he could not sleep or was struggling with the new anxieties and rigors of apprenticeship. Six years had passed, and somehow he was back where he began, in this apartment full of plants and books and the unmistakable essence of Qui-Gon Jinn, staring up at his river stone while apprehension crept through the back of his mind. 

He closed his eyes, seeking centering energy, stone resting beneath laced hands on his chest. He used to think the stone from Qui-Gon was magic, blessed by the Force itself. When he woke from Nield’s attack, his first lucid words had been to ask the attentive, nameless Jedi Knight sitting at his side about the river stone. 

_It can help me. Do you know where it is?_

_I’m sorry, kid. I don’t know what you’re talking about._

_The stone. River stone. My Master gave it to me. It has...powers._

_Hey, you need to relax. Just stop moving so much and we’ll talk about it. Like a healing crystal?_

_No. It seems like a rock but it’s not a rock. It was a birthday present. I always have it with me…_

And then he had remembered, surrendering his belt to Qui-Gon, the stone stowed in one of the compartments. 

_Hey, hey, that’s not good for you. Don’t be upset. You’ve been through a lot and we can find you another rock, alright? I promise._

Ullo Tirr had made him many promises that day, and more after he recovered, and kept every one of them, except he never could replace the stone. Now Master Windu would fulfill the man’s last promise. 

It was an honor. He was honored. 

He pulled the blankets over his shoulders. The intense amber chiaroscuro had receded into the shadows of nightfall. Which meant he had slept all day, and missed three classes, a private session with Master Drallig, not to mention whatever questing messages Master Windu had sent him. 

“I apologize for my tardiness in responding, Master Windu…” he mumbled, turning his face into the soft pillow. “I deeply apologize for failing to respond to your messages in a prompt manner, Master Windu…” 

The stone warmed the skin beneath his thin sleep shirt. He thought of when he was younger, when his life was much simpler, and loss and regret and death were distant concepts. He imagined Ullo Tirr and Qui-Gon Jinn, if Ullo had not died, if the two Masters had put aside their differences. No animosity or conflicting loyalties. 

A sharp ache spread in his chest. He missed Ullo in a way that knocked the air out of him. 

And he had always missed Qui-Gon Jinn.

“I am sorry for my delayed reply…”

The bedroom was dark now. The familiar background noise of speeders was soothing. He despised flying but appreciated the hum of ships. He supposed it was because he had lived on Coruscant since infancy, and on Coruscant, someone was always going somewhere.

He knew he would be going too, starting off with his new and esteemed Master, returning to the faster pace of missions and an ever-advancing training regimen. 

But right now, he was going to sleep.

\------ 

_“You asked the Council to reassign us.”_

_It was not a question, and Ullo Tirr did not treat it as one. “Our skills will be better utilized elsewhere, Padawan. Besides, you’re whiny in desert climates and you know it. I’m just saving myself the aggravation.”_

_They walked along the Gardens, under shafts of sunlight, side by side. In the soft ambience, his Master looked quite young, with his smooth olive skin and blue-black hair. In another life, they would brothers, too close in age to be anything else._

_At times, Obi-Wan felt like the older half of their partnership. He was cautious and reflective, whereas his Master was a self-confessed leap-before-looking type. It was also painfully obvious when Ullo was not telling him the whole truth. “Master Jinn is only one of several Jedi attending the summit, Master.”_

_“You see? With all those other Jedi, they hardly need two more. And you really only count as half a Jedi. Less than half when you’re not wearing your boots.”_

_“Being tall is not a requirement of the Order, Master. Or shall I share your opinion with Yoda?”_

_Ullo pantomimed an exaggerated shudder. “Okay, okay. Fine. You’re three quarters of a Jedi.”_

_“I can work with that.”_

_They continued down the bloom-lined path in companionable silence. The Force was not so silent, nor as mild as the flowers at their feet. It roiled in the Padawan’s stomach. Or it was just his nerves. This was a subject they avoided at all costs. Ullo never outright forbid discussion of any topic, but Obi-Wan knew he was testing the man’s ample limits._

_The proper thing to do was let it be. He had let it be for years now. They did very well with letting it be._

_Until the Council called upon them for the summit._

_The assignment was nothing particularly exciting, and Obi-Wan was not fond of extreme heat. It was his Master’s prerogative to decline missions. As a Padawan he accepted his place._

_Except for the times he didn’t._

_“The Council cannot be pleased with you asking for reassignment, Master.” He began tentatively, glancing up to gauge Ullo’s reaction._

_The older Jedi was not looking at him, but at a tree. “That’s a weird one,” he remarked, gesturing to the melted, wet appearance of the bark._

_Obi-Wan made a wordless noise of half-hearted agreement. He knew his Master would not argue with him. The problem was that they_ needed _to argue. He wasn’t a Knight or even a senior apprentice yet, but Obi-Wan knew problems left in the darkness just festered. “Master, you do not need to avoid him for my sake. In fact, I would not be adverse to—“_

_“Who said it was for your sake?” Ullo answered quietly._

_Obi-Wan compressed his lips. He had not expected that response, and beyond a burning embarrassment, he was struck by guilt and chagrin. “I’m sorry.”_

_Ullo tugged on the stubby nerf tail. His green eyes gleamed with fondness. “Don’t be. I want us to be open with each other, always.”_

_He ducked his head, as if to evade the hand playfully ruffling his hair, but it was the emotion in those familiar eyes he could not take, and an inexplicable lump formed in his throat. He was so grateful to call this man his teacher. The last thing he wanted to do was insult him by broaching the topic of Qui-Gon Jinn._

_Ullo stopped under a weeping olie tree, with its strings of pale lavender blossoms. He grasped Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “This is a failure of mine. I…” his gaze drifted, and in that moment Obi-Wan could see what Ullo saw: a young boy barely clinging to life in a sewer, abandoned by his Master. “I do my best to handle it the way I know how, Obi-Wan. And that is to keep my distance—our distance from him.”_

_Obi-Wan exhaled steadily, looking into Ullo’s eyes. “I volunteered to stay there. I would not go with him. He was insistent that I go but I refused. I let him down that day.”_

_Ullo traced the side of his face with a finger. “You’re too young to understand this, my apprentice. As Masters it is our responsibility to guide our students, not cut them loose at the first trial.”_

_He noticed Ullo looking at his neck. He did that often, though all that remained of the wound was a white whisper of a scar. Obi-Wan had diligently worked to separate himself from the image Ullo carried in his memory, to prove to his mentor that he was strong, that he would never hurt himself again...though he had never hurt himself to begin with._

_He longed to be truthful with Ullo about Melida/Daan, and Nield, and the day with the knife when everything changed. He had allowed Ullo and others to think his gristly injuries were self-inflicted, because he had forgiven Nield, and felt responsible for pushing the troubled Young leader over the edge. Nield was never given the chance to be more than he was, or even happy, and he did not want the boy punished beyond his life’s already considerable burdens. He did suffer terrible nightmares of Nield screaming and Cerasi crying with her dead eyes and the knife twisting into his flesh, so the mandatory visits with the mind healers had been beneficial for those first months back at the Temple. Now years had gone by, and he still couldn’t form the words to explain what really happened._

_If avoiding Qui-Gon was Ullo’s failure, than this was Obi-Wan’s: he could not disappoint another Master, and so he kept Nield’s secret tucked away in a part of his mind where no one touched, the same place he hid his desire to speak with Qui-Gon Jinn again._

_“Master Windu agrees with me. At least, he didn’t fight me on it.” Ullo said, slowly dropping his hands. “I’m not the only one who has issues with Jinn.”_

_“With all due respect, Master, I think he is misunderstood.”_

_Ullo straightened his braid with a half smile. “You’re right, Padawan. I don’t understand him at all.”_

\----—


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what happened with the spacing in this chapter. I'm old and tired and just don't understand.

**Part IX**

 

When he approached his quarters, Qui-Gon expected to meet Mace Windu, and it was a relief to instead turn into an empty hallway. The two Masters had nothing to say to each other now. They both knew what needed to happen.

 

It made Qui-Gon very tired.

 

He entered his rooms and found them dark, quiet. He sensed Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force, though somewhat muted by unconsciousness.  Standing in the shadows of the common room, where he had spent so many nights,  _ years,  _ alone, he closed his eyes and let himself think of what his life would be like if that luminous presence, still so familiar to him, could remain as close as it was tonight.

 

If he could wake every morning with the singular, sacred purpose of training an apprentice,  _ this _ apprentice, with whom he shared an undeniable connection. If they could write a new chapter together, when their last had been so foolishly abandoned on the first page. Mace Windu could claim no such history with Obi-Wan. 

 

But the rational voice inside him whispered,  _ perhaps that is for the best _ . Did Obi-Wan not deserve an unencumbered path to Knighthood? Force knew he had already survived his share of obstacles. Mace was at the pinnacle of his skill, keenly perceptive, and a highly respected member of the Council. Qui-Gon knew that beneath the practiced veneer of stern aloofness, the man was kind, compassionate, even  _ funny _ .

 

Occasionally. Once or twice, at least, if his memory served him right.

 

Having such a revered Jedi as his Master could only be a boon to Obi-Wan, especially as the young man entered senior Padawan status. The coming years would shape Obi-Wan into the Knight he was destined to become. In some ways the last miles of the journey were easier, as the Learner shed adolescence and inexperience, but such growth needed to be tempered by humility, patience. He had no doubt that Obi-Wan would rise to these final challenges in his apprenticeship, no matter who acted as his guide.

 

Qui-Gon would just have to dispel the stubborn hope in his heart.  _ I had my chance. I walked away.  _ He was not walking away this time. At least, not forever. Obi-Wan would be a Knight in a few years, and perhaps then they could reconnect, even work as a mission team occasionally. It was not what he wanted, or what the Force urged fervently in his blood, but it would be enough, and more than he deserved. 

 

He crossed the still room and stood at the door to his sleeping quarters. Gathering strength, he entered, tensing at the slick sliding noise of the door, worried it would awaken Obi-Wan.

 

But the Padawan slumbered on, turned on his shoulder beneath Qui-Gon’s blankets, radiating a kind of peace that hurt and warmed the Master’s heart in equal measure. He stood beside the bed. He listened to the measured snoring of deep, exhausted sleep, saw the soft crop of auburn hair against the white pillow. He lowered his last shields, and let himself feel, fully, his regret and sense of loss. 

 

He could not be angry at Mace Windu, or Ullo Tirr. They had only sought to salvage what he discarded. 

 

Obi-Wan shifted, moving onto his back. The pale moonlight spread across the young man’s neck, as if to accuse Qui-Gon, illuminating his sins.

 

There. It was there. 

 

A thin scar, a shade lighter than Obi-Wan’s skin, barely noticeable or unusual, especially for a Jedi.

 

Qui-Gon had not seen it.

 

Now he saw it, and he could not deny Mace’s words. The truth was scrawled before him. A shuddering gasp escaped his lips. He was back on Melida/Daan, walking up the ramp.  _ Why didn’t I turn around? He was thirteen. Why— _

 

“Master Jinn?”

 

The hoarse voice cut through his reverie like a knife.

 

He looked at Obi-Wan, watched the scar stretch and retract with each breath. 

 

_ Why didn’t I SEE? _

 

Obi-Wan rubbed his eye with the heel of a hand. Blanket creases marked his arm and cheek. “Forgive me, I lost track of time.” 

 

Qui-Gon sat on the bed’s edge and waved on a low light. “It’s very late.”  _ Too late.  _ “I’ve spoken with Master Windu. You needn’t worry about repercussions.”

 

Obi-Wan sat up. Brief pain flared in the Force, through the unbroken connection that should have been broken years prior. 

 

“How is your back?” Qui-Gon asked. He gingerly touched the inflamed area.

 

“It seems better. Better than it was, anyway. Thank you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes were faintly red, his smile looser in the first, relaxed moments of wakefulness. 

 

“Thank  _ you  _ for indulging an old man. It was...a pleasure to share your company last night. I know Dex will be needling me every time I see him now, asking when you’ll be back.” Qui-Gon chuckled, though the thought of answering the cook’s genial probes about Obi-Wan filled him with a melancholy dread. 

 

“Oh, not for a month, I’d say. I doubt I’ll be hungry again before then.” The Padawan quipped, in that proper, dry tone that made anything he said sound especially clever. 

 

 _He will be a breathtaking negotiator one day._ The thought came and went as he watched the young man. “If you are comfortable here, I will happily take the sofa. Your Master,” he stumbled on that particular honorific, _“_ should not be expecting you until daybreak.”

 

Obi-Wan’s mouth settled in a straight line. He nodded. “I appreciate that, Master Jinn. I’m sure you’re eager to have your rooms to yourself again. I can sleep just as well in my quarters.”

 

That had not been the case since Ullo’s death, but Qui-Gon decided not to press that particular issue. He knew his offer was rooted in attachment, to keep Obi-Wan for a few hours more. “Of course, whatever you prefer.” His eyes strayed again to that damning thread of pale, healed skin. His heart pounded. “But before you go, I would like to speak to you, if that’s alright.”

 

Obi-Wan straightened, and seemed to realize his state of undress, as he pulled the covers around himself, in an attempt at presentability. 

 

_ A negotiator, a diplomat, a consummate Jedi.  _ His mind bled sadness, a sense of pride he could not rightly claim. “When I spoke to Master Windu earlier today, he described events of which I was unaware. Terrible events that I had no small part in causing.”

 

Confusion flickered in Obi-Wan’s eyes, but he had the restraint to allow the older Jedi to continue.

 

Qui-Gon sighed. He looked down at his lap, then at the expectant face in front of him. “Obi-Wan, if I could change one thing in my life, it would be leaving you on Melida/Daan.”

 

Immediately Obi-Wan clasped Qui-Gon’s hands, shaking his head. “It was my own decision. You tried to stop me.”

 

Qui-Gon gripped the warm fingers. Regret flowed from both directions in the open channel between them. “You were a child. I knew it was too dangerous for you to be on your own. Hells, Tahl was a seasoned Master and left that place  _ blinded _ . You could have…” He could not finish the sentence, or envision a fate worse than what had already transpired there. “You were lucky to leave with your life. I never acknowledged Master Tirr’s role in bringing you home, and for that, too, I will be haunted.”

 

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. “Master Jinn, truly, this is unnecessary. We are years removed from that time, and I never…” He paused. “I never blamed you for my choices, or anything that happened after. I wanted to come to you, to ask your forgiveness, but Ullo insisted it was better to leave things alone.” 

 

He recalled the weight of Tirr’s gaze upon him, as they passed one another in the Temple halls. It was a wonder the man had not struck him down there and then. “Your Master was protecting you. As all good Masters seek to protect their Padawans.” Self-incrimination dripped from his words. “I know what happened after I left. I know…” He swallowed, spreading tentative fingers to graze the white scar, “Obi-Wan, I can never tell you how sorry I am.” His voice cracked, but he would not look away from his former apprentice. He held Obi-Wan’s hands, a man’s hands, calloused by a life that would grow harder by the day. When Obi-Wan was thirteen, his hands were much smaller, smooth, and nearly fit in the cradle of Qui-Gon’s palm. How could the hands of such a young boy commit violence so gruesome, against himself? What dark places had Obi-Wan fallen into, where the only escape he saw was a knife to the throat? He had smothered their link in the Force, and then Obi-Wan...”I’m so sorry.”

 

They reached for each other in the same moment, six years of apologies and remorse and longing spilling out into the Force.

 

“You were my  _ Padawan _ and I left you alone in a war. Mace….Mace told me...that you…”

 

“Qui-Gon...I didn’t…”

 

“It’s alright.” Qui-Gon whispered against the top of Obi-Wan’s head. He could feel the younger Jedi’s pulse racing alongside his own. “Obi-Wan, I want you to know that I never wanted to keep my distance from you. Even when you asked to be my apprentice, and I rejected you, it was not because I didn’t want you. I was afraid then, and I was afraid on Melida/Daan. But I was never afraid of  _ you _ . It took far too long for me to realize it. I petitioned Yoda for another chance to train you, when you returned from Melida/Daan.”

 

Obi-Wan pulled back. “ _ What? _ ”

 

“I wanted an opportunity to fix the mistakes I made with you. Except, no one told me how grievous those mistakes really were. No one told me you tried to kill yourself.” Qui-Gon hated saying it out loud, but it needed to be said. Everything needed to be said, before they could move on, before morning and Mace Windu arrived. “Now I understand why you were not told of my wishes. You needed a stable environment to heal, which is something I’ve never provided you.”

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes dropped. “Whatt Master Windu told you…” He met Qui-Gon’s gaze, a maelstrom of emotion swirling in their connection. “...it’s not the truth. I didn’t do that.”

 

Qui-Gon frowned. “Obi-Wan, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t have to—“

 

“No, I  _ do _ . I must tell the truth now. I should have done it years ago. When I regained consciousness, Ullo and the healers said I had tried to kill myself. I allowed them to think that, because I was thirteen, and thought I was protecting someone.”

“Someone….” New shock and horror mounted in Qui-Gon’s increasingly overwhelmed brain, “Obi-Wan, someone did that to you?”

 

Obi-Wan hesitated. 

 

“You can tell me. It won’t leave this room, if that’s what you want.” Qui-Gon asked again, carefully, “Did someone else do that to you?”

 

He felt a duracrete wall crumble. Obi-Wan’s blue eyes were tired, but clear. “Yes. Do you remember Nield?”

 

Qui-Gon searched his memories, found a vague image of an older boy with dark hair. “One of the Young leaders? It was him?”

 

Obi-Wan nodded. “He was angry that I was elected the new leader following Cersei’s death. I think he was just angry, and I was there. He cornered me on the surface, near a remote forest. He stabbed me in the side and cut my throat.”

 

Qui-Gon squeezed his hand, in comfort to both of them. He did not know what was more disturbing, thinking Obi-Wan had attempted suicide or knowing the truth, that a young boy maimed another child and left him for dead. Obi-Wan had sacrificed his status in the Order to help the Young, and was repaid for his empathetic nature with cruelty and pain. 

 

“I remember feeling myself bleeding out. I did not want to die.” Obi-Wan continued quietly. “I woke up in a medbay and Master Ullo was there. He told me what I had done would change nothing, that the Council would support my return and he would take care of everything, and I was to focus on mending my body and spirit. I had already forgiven Nield. I saw the regret in his eyes the moment he realized what he had done. I thought I had driven him to it.” He ran his hand through his hair. “It’s difficult to comprehend my thought process then, but I decided it was better for everyone to think I had stabbed myself. Nield had already lost everything. I worried the Council would discover his sudden disappearance and put two and two together... That’s why I went along with what they already believed.”

 

In the muted light, shadow softened the lines of Obi-Wan’s face. 

 

Qui-Gon wondered why they had only ever seen each other in half-light. “Yoda seems to think you were given the choice between myself or Ullo Tirr. But Mace told me you were not.”

 

Obi-Wan stared into the distance. “No,” he whispered. “Ullo asked me to be his Padawan while I was still in the Healer’s Ward. And you had said…” But he trailed off, studying the frayed edges of the blanket.

 

_ If you close this door now, you cannot knock upon it again. _

 

“Ullo never intended to take an apprentice. Once, a few years later, I asked him why he changed his mind. He said it was like the Force was knocking him over the head.” He glanced up at Qui-Gon with a rueful smile. “I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve wondered before, how things would be different if...except then he would not have been my Master. And he was a good Master.”

 

Qui-Gon rubbed his thumb across the tear on Obi-Wan’s cheek. His thoughts had wandered down the road of  _ what-if _ so often, he knew every crack and turn by heart. 

 

“I think he knew of your intentions to train me again. Now that I know, it makes sense. He avoided you, he did not want me to speak of you, or  _ to  _ you. It was not just resentment over Melida/Daan.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed with the brilliance of anguish, of epiphany. “He knew of your intentions, and made sure I didn’t.”

 

“He didn’t want to risk losing you.” Qui-Gon ran his fingers down the markers of the Learner’s braid, all the milestones Ullo Tirr had woven into Obi-Wan’s life. “I know because I lost you. He was afraid.”

 

Obi-Wan nodded, wiping his face. 

 

“I do not blame him for what he did. He cared deeply for you. And he was there for you when I chose not to be.” Qui-Gon smiled, despite a growing pressure in his chest. “I see his goodness in you, in the man you have become. I’ve no doubt Master Windu will honor Ullo’s memory, and you will flourish under his tutelage.”

 

Something in the Force flexed. “If I had known...Qui-Gon, I always...” Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “When I was bleeding out on Melida/Daan, all I wanted was to tell you I was sorry. All I wanted was to be your Padawan again, for things to be as they were. If I had known you had forgiven me…”

 

Qui-Gon knew Obi-Wan would not speak of it. Could not, without in some way betraying his slain Master and the years he spent at Ullo Tirr’s side. But he felt the truth between them nonetheless, as it had been from the moment they first met, surviving betrayal and distance and incredible misunderstanding. 

 

“I know.” Qui-Gon said. He noticed the river stone sitting atop the blankets, placed it in the young Jedi’s open palm. He felt the warmth against his skin where their hands touched, the stone held in between. “Promise me you will be kind to yourself, in the days and years to come. I may not be your Master, but I want you to know, in my eyes, you are the best among us, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

 

He did not expect the arms that wrapped around him, but he returned the embrace, fiercely, closing his eyes against the hot threat of tears. “I always thought so. I will always think so,” he rasped. “You can carry that with you, as you carry Ullo with you. You were  _ never  _ less than wanted. If it were up to me--”

 

Obi-Wan hiccuped into his shoulder, his fingers twisting in Qui-Gon’s tunics. 

 

They were a Master and apprentice at their beginning, they were screaming at each other on Melida/Daan, they were seeing each other from across a chasm, they were close and still, still too far away. 

 

Yet the message reached Qui-Gon through their connection, crystalline and pure:  _ And if it were up to me. _

 

But it was not. The opportunity had passed, the official movements made. Mace Windu would oversee Obi-Wan’s last years as a Padawan. Tomorrow could be held at bay for a few more hours, and then obligation would wake with the sun. Obi-Wan would be gone.

 

He stroked the hair near his cheek, wanting to memorize everything, remember the sweetness as well as he had remembered the bitterness and regret. He could not be Obi-Wan’s Master, but now they both  _ knew _ , and it was better to breathe without the pain of secrets. “Obi-Wan?” he murmured, after awhile. 

 

Obi-Wan sat up. When he was weary, it was easy to see the child he once was, a lingering suggestion of innocence. He smiled, unembarrassed by their trespass into attachment and emotion. There, in that minor smile, it was easy to see the man he would become, graceful and capable and  _ good _ . “I suppose I should go, before things become unbearably maudlin.”

 

Qui-Gon chuckled. “I believe that ship has sailed. It can stay between the two of us. We have reputations to uphold, after all.” He sobered, watching Obi-Wan stand, glimpsing the faded bruises along his spine.  “Will you promise me one thing more, Obi-Wan?” 

 

Obi-Wan slipped his sleep shirt over his head. “Yes?”

 

“The next time you venture into Vapaad, ask your Master to accompany you.”

 

It was supposed to be a teasing comment, to lighten the end of these dark and confusing days, but Obi-Wan did not laugh, or even smirk. “I believe that Vapaad is not for me, Master Jinn.” He replied, sliding the river stone into a pocket. 

 

Of course, it was not. “What form did Ullo use?”

 

Now a faint smile, a fond stirring in the Force. “Soresu.”

 

“A fine choice. Don’t tell Mace, but Vapaad has its share of critics.” Qui-Gon could not quite mask his sadness as Obi-Wan prepared to leave. The Padawan would be busy with learning a new mentor’s methods, leaving on missions, studying for Senior levels. He knew he would not fit into Obi-Wan’s schedule, especially with Mace at the helm. “Perhaps, someday, you could tell me more about Ullo, and your adventures together. I have missed so much. I am here if you need to talk, or cannot sleep…” 

 

Obi-Wan gave a shallow bow. “I would appreciate that.”

 

Qui-Gon stood, laying his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “There is no door of mine that is closed to you. You can always knock, Obi-Wan. I will always answer.”

 

He should have said it six years ago, to a confused boy, as they stood at the precipice of folly.

 

“Thank you, Master Jinn.” Obi-Wan said. 

 

When the dawn came, Qui-Gon Jinn was alone again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write mostly on my phone. I realize, as I re-read chapters, that my autocorrect is drunk. It replaced "room" with "roommate" in an earlier chapter and I never noticed. It switched "He gripped the fingers" to "He grilled the fingers". My personal favorite: "You needn't worry about repercussions" was changed to "You needn't worry about trout shins". And you know what? Obi-Wan has been through enough. He REALLY shouldn't have to worry about trout shins on top of everything else! So in this instance, autocorrect, I feel you.


End file.
